Duping Cupid (A Valentine's Day Short Story) (11 page)

Sarah answered on the first ring. “Cupid
To Go.”

“It’s Bass.”
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Put her on. Now.”

In true passive-aggressive mode,
Vivi made him wait. Rather than cooling him off, the time lapse only increased his ire. Striding deeper into the park, away from prying eyes and pricking ears, he relived the sight of Julian Bruno exiting the building. His brain simmered. He’d probably walked half a mile in circles before Vivi finally picked up.

“Cupid
To Go. This is Vivi.”

“Tell me I didn’t see
Julian Bruno leaving your office right now,” he demanded.

“Well, hi there, stranger,” she cooed. “Long time, no hear.”

“Don’t play games with me, Vivi. What was he doing there?”

“How do you know he was here?”

“In other words, I did see him. And to answer your question, I’m in the park across the street. Are you dating him again?”

“Not that
it’s any of your business, but he was here on business.”

“What kind of business?”

“None. Of. Yours.”

He forced himself to calm down
with deep inhales and exhales. Anger would get him nowhere when dealing with her. “Look, Vivi, you’re right. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

The reply was terse, each syllable like a red-hot pellet.
“Too late. Have a nice life, Bass.”

Before he could argue, she hung up. He
immediately hit redial.

Once again, Sarah picked up. “Cupid
To Go.”

“Put her on again.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lawrence. Ms. Maxwell is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Yeah.
Tell her this isn’t over.”

But in his heart, he knew it was.

****

The Christmas gifts mocked him.
Every time Bass walked into his apartment, white light, whether from the sun or his interior lamps, glinted off the silver foil. He should just shove the box into a closet, along with the stocking that leaned against it. Instead, he kept them in the open, on the middle shelf of his étagère, where they sat at eye-level, a constant reminder that he’d lost his best friend and the love of his life.

On
the tenth of February, the weather punished resident New Yorkers for enjoying the previous week’s warmth with a major snowstorm. Anyone who didn’t have to leave home was encouraged to remain where they were. Thus, Bass was stuck inside his apartment with that damn package.

After several hours of pacing, staring out the window at the swirling snow, and channel surfing, he couldn’t take the lure any longer. What did he have to los
e at this point? Vivi had pretty much said goodbye to him when she hung up the day he saw Julian Bruno at her office. Since then, she’d refused to take his calls, letting them go straight to voicemail or blocking him with the brick wall that was Sarah.

He headed for the étagère and pulled the package and stocking off the shelf. Although a
month had passed, he could still hear her recorded voice.
Don’t argue, Bass. Package, card, stocking. In that order
. So what if he’d screwed up everything else? This, he’d do right. Package first. The foil-wrapped tube went on the couch. He placed the stocking on the glass cocktail table and smoothed the edge of white fur with his fingertips. Okay, he was ready. No. Wait. He had a great idea.

Grabbing his laptop, he powered on and accessed his video program.
He slid the stocking out of the way and set up the computer so the camera eye focused on the couch where he planned to sit. Satisfied, he sat and pulled the tubular package onto his lap before aiming a shaky smile at the camera.

“Hey,
Vivi. It’s me. Today’s February tenth, the day of the big blizzard, and I’m home, along with the rest of Manhattan.” He swallowed hard—his pride. “First, I want to say that I’m sorry. I screwed up. See, when I first met Ava, she made me aware of something I hadn’t realized before.” Another swallow. Jeez, his throat was dryer than day-old coffee grounds, and the temperature in his apartment rivaled the surface of the sun. “I’m in love with you. Rather than tell you straight out, which, let’s face it, would’ve scared the crap out of you, I let Ava talk me into playing some kind of jealousy game. She claimed that if you saw me as someone else’s romantic interest, you’d begin to realize how much you loved me…”

He confessed everything, pouring his heart out to his image on the laptop screen, in fast-forward chronological order. Finally, he lifted her Christmas gift
up into view on the screen. “When you had Mrs. Melendez bring this to me, I couldn’t understand your rush. Unless this was your way of telling me you didn’t want to see me anymore. ‘Give him his gift and we’re done.’” He inhaled a sharp breath. “I still don’t know if that’s what you were thinking. But today, I reconsidered. I can’t fight the unknown. And Vivi, here’s the thing: you’re worth fighting for. So get ready. No matter what you meant by sending this to me, I’ll be coming for you.” Looking past the laptop, he glanced at the billows of white outside his window. “As soon as the weather allows.”

He settled the package on his knees. “
Okay, here we go. And yes, I remember the rules. Package, card, stocking.”

With trembling hands, he removed the bright red envelope and placed it on the cocktail table between the laptop and the stocking. He tore the wrapping off the tubular gift. The plain white
cardboard shell beneath the shiny paper gave him no additional clues. “Hmm…” he said to the screen. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

He wedged the box on its side between his knees and pried open the top. Gold glinted inside. “What the…?” He shoved one hand into the case and grabbed the cool metal, pulling carefully.

The telescope slid out, and the box fell from his knees with a
thunk
. “This is just like the one…” His voice trailed off as he studied the barrel. There, on the end closer to the eyepiece, was the crescent-shaped chip. The chip that his grandfather had created when, as a boy, he’d dropped the telescope on the cement slab outside his home.

“
Vivi.” Her name wafted from his lips, a prayer. “Is it any wonder I love you?”

Aside from that one chip, the telescope was in pristine condition.
Polished, even.

Joy infused him as he lifted the scope to his eye and looked out at the swirling snow. The lens enhanced the flakes into delicate crystal flowers for his benefit alone. His chest tightened. She loved him. Or she had when she’d planned this gift.

“Card next,” he said through a roughened throat. He reached for the envelope and tore open the flap. When he pulled out the card, he saw two drunken dogs caroling on the front. He didn’t bother with the printed verse. His eyes zoomed straight to Vivi’s scripted message inside.

Dear Bass,

I’ve been looking for this telescope for about five years now. I finally got hold of it this past May, and it’s been hidden at Sarah’s parents’ house for the last three
months. Yes, that’s right—I didn’t even trust Sarah with it.

He chuckled.

I hope from now on, when Christmas brings dark memories, you’ll look at this telescope and remember that, while we can’t change the past, we can control how that past shapes us. You’ve been so much a part of who I’ve become, and I’m grateful. I wish you happiness in life, Bass, because that’s what you’ve given me these last eight years. Merry Christmas.

Fondly,

Vivi

Suspicion zipped up his spine, but he was determined to see this through. He picked up the stocking and showed it to the camera.
“Last item.”

Inside, surrounded by fistfuls of silver star confetti, was a sterling picture frame complete with a photo of the two of them at last year’s Fourth of July barbecue, all smiles, with the Macy’s fireworks lighting up the night sky behind them.

A crushing weight imploded his chest. This was never meant to be a goodbye gift. This was an “I’m setting you free” gift. But why?

She must have believed he’d fallen in love with Ava!

Pausing the video recording, he accessed the Internet and did something he’d never done in his life: he
Googled himself. The usual sites popped up first: his fan site, the television database, and a website dedicated to his old series. After that came page after page of photos of him with Ava. He recalled every excruciating minute spent in her company, but not how or when the pictures were taken. There were shots outside the hunger charity event at that art gallery on Thanksgiving, including a close-up of him nuzzling Ava’s neck. Even to his eyes, he and Ava looked like lovers. And he knew the truth!

Each of the
pics included a caption, a blurb, or an article about the blossoming romance between the former television star and the former model. The press had even given them a nickname:
SebAva
. Who the hell thought of this stuff?

On page
four, he found the most damning photo.
Ice for Ava?
the caption read.
Sebastian Lawrence, above, was spotted leaving a famous jeweler’s with a package and a smile. Although no one inside the store would reveal exactly what he purchased, another customer did mention his interest in ring sizing. Could wedding bells be in SebAva’s future? After, of course, Ava Featherstone finalizes her divorce from Cecil Bannerman. Sources close to the former couple have confirmed the paperwork was, indeed, filed this week.

No wonder
Vivi had turned against him and gave him a free pass out of their friendship. She thought he wanted to ditch her for Ava, and here he suspected her of wanting to be rid of
him
. Jeez, he’d really screwed up. They both had.

Closing the web and returning to the video program
, he hit record and leaned closer to the laptop so she could see the sincerity on his face. “I’m going to win you back, Vivi. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter 9

Bass was driving her batty.
For days after their argument about Julian, he called her office, her cell, and when he couldn’t reach her by phone, he emailed her. This last message, sent a few minutes ago, came with the subject line, “Urgent! Please Open!” and an attachment.

Puh-leez
. Didn’t hackers use similar subject lines with their attached virus downloads? She treated Bass’s email the same way she’d treat a message about gold bars in Nigeria or her winning entry in the Irish Sweepstakes. Right into the electronic trash bin. She only wished she had a
kathunk
sound effect to add to her satisfaction.

What could be so urgent anyway?
His wedding invitation? Pass.

Her conscience chastised her all night and all the following day.
What if he wanted to apologize? What if he’d suddenly realized Ava wasn’t the right woman for him? She should have at least read the email he sent.

Later, she told herself
on Friday evening. Right now, she had to get ready for the partners’ dinner with Julian.

Once again, the irony of the situation struck her, and she smirked.
From Julian to Bass to Julian again. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. At least, the dress was new.

She’d opted for a midnight blue strapless number that hugged her chest and nipped her waist
, while the strappy black sandals with three-inch stiletto heels made her legs look long and lean. She’d styled her hair with a curling iron so the thick, dark mass tumbled to her bare shoulders in waves. Her eyes sparkled beneath gold shadow that shimmered, and she’d thickened her lashes with lots of mascara.

As she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, a thrill rippled through her. “Eat your heart out, penis-bearers. You can all look, but not touch.” She was done with men—the entire species.

“Except you, Beowulf.” She bent to her bed where the Maltese lay supine, like a best friend assessing her outfit before a big date. She scratched his head between his ears, and his tail thumped.

The buzzer sounded in the kitchen, sending the pup into a barking fit as he raced to the apartment door.

She followed and pressed the intercom. “Julian?”

“Hey,
Vivi.” His voice squawked through the speaker. “You ready?”

“Almost.
Come on up.” She buzzed him into the lobby and sped back to the bedroom for one last hair fluff and a lipstick application.

When he rapped knuckles on her door a few minutes later, she was ready. She pulled open the door, and he stepped back, eyes wide.

“Wow. Vivi, you look great!” His gaze scanned from head to toe, and a lazy grin stretched his lips.

“Thanks. So do you.” And he did. But then,
she considered as she pulled her black wool dress coat out of the closet, his looks had never been in contention between them.

Beowulf, not happy to be ignored, yipped and bounced in the doorway, tail wagging at hyper speed.