Everyone Worth Knowing (59 page)

We'd just tucked into our omelets when Will brought up the single

subject I wanted to forget.

"Well, at least now there's a good reason why I couldn't see my

own niece until she'd been back in the country for a week. I'd be

offended if you were simply out gallivanting for work every night,

but now that there's a boyfriend in the picture . . . New relationships

must be coddled, and the beginning is the best time! Oh,

how I remember the beginning! You just cannot get enough of

each other. Every moment you're apart feels like torture. Which

lasts about two years, of course, at which point things do a full

one-eighty and you try to wrangle every possible moment alone.

But you've got plenty of time before that happens, darling. So tell

me, how has it been?"

I speared my eggs and pushed them around the plate before

dropping my fork altogether. "Actually, we haven't seen each other

since we've been back," I said, realizing how awful that sounded.

"It's not like there's anything wrong," I added quickly. "He's really

busy talking to some people about opening up a restaurant—

which is not his ultimate goal but seems to be a really good opportunity

right now—and we've talked on the phone a few times, but

I've also been so crazed getting everything together for the
Playboy

party and, well, you know how it is."

I heard the words come out of my mouth and knew I sounded

like a delusional girl trying to convince herself and everyone else

that some guy really was interested, even though all outward signs

indicated otherwise. It was beyond upsetting that I hadn't seen

Sammy since we'd gotten home, but it was true that both of us had

been extraordinarily busy, and besides, it was hardly unusual not

to see a new guy for a week in New York City. Plus, I reminded

myself, he had called three times in seven days, and he always said

what a great time he'd had with me in Turkey, that he couldn't

wait for things to calm down so we could go on a real date. I'd

read enough romances to know that the worst possible thing I

could do would be to push or demand. So far everything had un-

folded organically, and while it would've been nice to have seen

him once or twice in the past week, this was not a major cause for

concern. After all, I was quite sure we had a long and beautiful future

together, so what would be the point of rushing things now?

"Mmm, I see." Will looked troubled for a moment but then uncrinkled

his forehead. "I'm sure you know what you're doing, darling.

Any plans to see him again?"

"Actually, yes. I have to stop by an
In Style
party tomorrow

night, and he'll be working. He asked me to get coffee with him

afterward."

This seemed to satisfy Will. "Excellent. Do send him my best."

He folded his hands together and leaned forward like an eager girlfriend

waiting for the latest update. "I command you to invite him

to brunch next Sunday," he said as Simon finally arrived.

"Sammy? Ooh, great idea! It'll just be the four of us. Give us a

chance to really meet this young man," Simon chimed in. Clearly,

my big secret relationship with Sammy was nothing of the sort.

"As great as that sounds, guys, Sammy cooks brunch on Sundays

at Gramercy Tavern, so he can't come to ours. Maybe another

time," I added when they looked crestfallen.

"Well, perhaps we'll make our way over there," Will said halfheartedly.

"I hear it's a decent meal."

Simon nodded unenthusiastically. "Yes, why don't we? That

sounds quite nice. At some point . . ."

And finally, blessedly, the conversation shifted to their upcoming

trip to the Caribbean, and I was left to sit silently, feigning interest

while I dreamed about my romantic, late-night coffee date

with my new boyfriend.

27

Monday was a blur. I was so excited to see Sammy after work

that I floated through the day in a dream-like state. I recalled not

one subject that we discussed during the morning meeting, and

even though I'd sat through the entire thing, I had to ask one of

the List Girls to make me a copy of the notes she took so I could

familiarize myself with what had been covered. The office was in

full mobilization mode now that the
Playboy
party was rapidly approaching,

and even though I was officially in charge, I couldn't

concentrate. I ducked out at lunch to get a manicure. At three, I

announced I was grabbing coffee, but I actually bolted to the tailor

to pick up the sexy cocktail dress I'd gotten over the weekend,

which was now newly shortened. By the time six o'clock rolled

around, I started mumbling lies and weaving unintelligible stories

about my parents, Uncle Will, a sick friend—anything that would

allow me to leave early and have a full couple of hours to get

home, decompress, and groom myself to within an inch of sanity. I

emailed Kelly and Elisa that I'd be able to check out the
In Style

party that night and report back the next day, and then I walked

out of the office at exactly six-thirty.

The evening disappeared in a whirlwind of primping activity

(including shaving, scrubbing, plucking, filing, brushing, painting,

and moisturizing), and by the time the cab pulled up to Bungalow,

I was nearly breathless with anticipation. Will had hustled me off

to Bergdorf's after brunch the day before and insisted on buying

me the gorgeous Chaiken dress. It had a magical empire waist that

made my own midsection look nonexistent, a skirt that flowed

gracefully down to my knees. I'd never before owned a single item

quite that gorgeous or expensive; from the moment I'd zipped it on

an hour earlier, I just knew that the night was going to be special.

Sammy's expression as I stepped out of the taxi didn't disappoint.

I watched him as his eyes covered the distance from my

sparkly silver heels to the super-glam chandelier earrings Penelope

had bought me for my last birthday. His smile grew wider until he

finally finished looking and said, "Wow."' It was followed by something

that sounded like a low moan, and I thought I might die of

happiness.

"You like it?" I asked, resisting the urge to twirl around. By

some miracle, we were alone on the sidewalk, the last of a group

of smokers having just ducked back inside.

"Bette, you look absolutely beautiful," he said, and it sounded

like he actually meant it.

"Thanks! You look pretty good yourself."
Breezy and light,
I

kept reminding myself.
Keep it breezy and light, and leave him

wanting more.

"Are we still on for later?" he asked, giving a "one-second" gesture

to two girls who'd just approached the velvet rope.

"Sure. I'm up for it if you are. . . ." My words were casual, but

it took tremendous control for me not to choke with hopefulness.

"Definitely. If you don't mind waiting, I can probably be out of

here by one. One-fifteen, latest. I know a good place nearby."

I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't going to cancel. No

matter that one A.M. was still a solid four hours away, or that I'd be

a zombie at work the next day. None of it mattered one tiny bit

because in a survivable period of time, I was going to be tucked

into a corner booth with my head resting on Sammy's strong, solid

shoulder, sipping my tiny espresso and laughing girlishly at the delicious

things he'd be whispering in my ear—things like how it was

time that each of us end whatever "situations" we had with Isabelle

and Philip so we could be together, fully and with honesty; how

he'd never met anyone who understood him as well as I did; and

how it was so incredible that we'd known each other as kids back

in Poughkeepsie. He'd tell me that it wouldn't be easy—us being

together, what with the social and professional pressures we'd both

face—but that we had something worth fighting for, and he was

ready and willing. I would pretend to think this all over, nodding

occasionally and cocking my head at certain words, as if to say,

"Why, I can see what you mean," and when I finally looked up at

him and agreed that yes, this was all sounding like a good idea, he

would pull me toward him and kiss me, at first softly and then

with more urgency. From that moment on we'd be together in

every sense of the word, best friends and lovers and soul mates,

and while there'd surely be challenges, we'd get through it all side

by side. I'd read the same story play itself out so many times in my

novels that I could barely believe I finally had my own real-life

version.

"Sure, that sounds great." And before he could change his mind

or say another word, I gracefully (I hoped) sashayed past him,

opened the door myself, and glided into the packed room.

One o'clock rolled around with surprising swiftness. I capitalized

on my good mood by circulating around the room, chatting

first with Elisa and then Davide and then a few guys I knew peripherally

through Avery. Nothing could ruin my night, not even

catching a glimpse of Abby, skulking in a darkened corner beside

the bar. She caught me looking at her and before I realized what

was happening, she was standing next to me, hugging me in greeting.

I pulled myself away and took a step back, examined her face

as though I were trying to place it, and then simply turned around

and walked away. For a split second she called out my name and

tried to follow me, but I stuck my right hand in the air as 1 walked

in the opposite direction, and by the time I reached Kelly &

Company's table, she had disappeared. I'd just calmly poured myself

a glass of champagne when Sammy walked over and motioned

that he could leave.

We walked for nearly ten blocks before reaching a tiny diner

that still had Christmas candles in its windows. He held the door

for me and then chose a small corner booth—just like I'd envisioned.

I blew on my hands to warm them, and when I wrapped

them around my mug of hot chocolate, Sammy placed his own

over mine.

"Bette, I have to ask you something," he said, his eyes meeting

mine directly.

I nearly gasped but was able to control my breath.
Ask me

something? Ask me what? Ask me if I am dating anyone else because

you think now would be a good time to stop? Ask me if I can

actually see myself being your lifelong partner? We answer is yes,

yes, of course, Sammy, but isn't it a tad early for that discussion?
I

was considering all of these possibilities and more when he said, "I

need to ask for your patience."

That sort of brought things to a grinding halt.
My patience?
I

didn't know for sure, but that didn't sound like the opening of a

commitment conversation to me. At least not the way it happened

in any self-respecting romance novel.