Heaven and Hell (7 page)

“Okay is not sittin’ alone, drinkin’ with
tears in your eyes,” he stated.

Well, I had to admit, he was right about
that.

“Uh…” I mumbled.

“Are you okay?” he repeated, this time
gently, his eyes holding mine captive and while they did, they were
looking deep.

So deep, I was mesmerized and found myself
whispering, “I don’t know.”

“That’s a better answer,” he decreed on a
return whisper then moved again, swiftly.

He bent to the side, reaching out a long
arm; he tagged a chair and dragged it next to and facing the side
of mine. Then he sat in it, leaned forward, put one elbow to his
knee but reached out with the other hand, capturing mine and
pulling it toward him. Then his other hand shifted and both of his
hands held mine at his knees.

He did this so quickly, even when he settled
I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Sampson Cooper was
holding my hand, sitting next to me and completely focused on me in
an intent way that made my entire body feel warm.

“Your man?” he asked.

“What?” I asked back.

“Are you thinkin’ about your husband?”

I shook my head and answered, “No, my
parents.”

His hands gave mine a squeeze that felt
convulsive before he asked, “Are they okay?”

I nodded. He waited. I didn’t say
anything.

His hands gave mine another squeeze, this
one a clear prompt.

“It’s a long story,” I said softly and it
was. It was also one he would never, ever know.

He held my eyes.

Then he guessed accurately, “You don’t wanna
talk about it.”

“No,” I verified his accuracy.

“Right,” he murmured then asked, “You don’t
wanna talk about that, you wanna talk about why you sat three
tables away from me for three hours tonight and didn’t even smile
at me, comin’ or goin’?”

I blinked but my heart started stuttering. I
figured this was an improvement, at least it didn’t stop.

Then I asked, “What?”

“Baby, you saw me.”

Well, there it was. I didn’t pull one over
on him.

Shit.

“I, uh… didn’t want to disturb you,” I told
him.

“Bullshit,” he shot back instantly and I
blinked again at the same time my hand jerked in his so his
tightened around it.

“Bullshit?” I asked.

“Yeah, Kia, bullshit.”

My shoulders straightened and I didn’t even
tell them to do it before my mouth accused, “Well, you didn’t smile
or come say hello to me either.”

He stared at me and it occurred to me, even
though I didn’t know him, like, at all, that I could sense that he
had been being real but now he was getting mad.

Then he stated, “So now we’re playin’ a
game.”

My shoulders got straighter and my torso
turned more fully to him and I snapped, “I’m not playing a
game.”

“Breakfast, totally fuckin’ transparent,
fuck me, seriously refreshing and now it’s cat and mouse.” His
hands squeezed mine. “Which one am I, Kia?”

Oh my God?

Did he just ask me that?

Seriously?

I yanked my hand from his and turned fully
to him, declaring, “Neither, Sam, you were with another woman and I
didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You came by to say hi, I could have
introduced you to Luciana, who’s the widow of a buddy of mine.”

My stomach clutched.

Oh man.

Sam kept talking. “She’s beautiful, she’s
sweet but she’s also not my type and even if she was, she’s my
buddy’s widow so I’d never fuckin’ go there.”

Oh man!

“Sam –” I started.

“So I can decide what I’m gonna do now, I
gotta know, you want me to be the cat or the mouse?”

“Neither,” I whispered.

“We done with this bullshit?” he asked
practically before I finished my one word reply.

“I… well, uh…” I stammered then told him
truthfully but hesitantly since he seemed kind of pissed off and
definitely impatient and he was a very big guy so I didn’t want to
make him more of either, “we hadn’t really started with the
bullshit.”

“Right,” he muttered, still leaned forward,
elbows to his knees, eyes on me.

“Right,” I whispered.

He held my eyes.

Then he said, “Good, then I’ll call Luciana
in the morning, tell her I’m bringin’ someone to her thing tomorrow
night. I’ll come to your room, eight o’clock. Don’t eat, she’s
gonna put on a spread. It’s formal. Can you do that?”

I blinked.

Then I whispered, “What?”

“Tomorrow, Luciana’s party, formal, I’ll be
at your room at eight o’clock. Can you do formal at short notice or
should I call her and tell her I can’t come and we’ll go out to
dinner?”

Oh my God.

Was he asking me out?

“Are you asking me out?”

The slightly pissed off and impatient look
swept clean from his face, his lips twitched and he answered,
“Yeah.”

“On a date?”

The last two words rose higher and higher
and I was pretty certain my eyes were huge.

He grinned, scooted forward in his chair and
said quietly, “Yeah, Kia, on a date but you gotta tell me where
we’re goin’. Luciana doesn’t fuck around when it comes to her
parties or her clothes. You can’t swing that, let me know and we’ll
do something else.”

“I can swing that,” I said instantly and
damnably enthusiastically.

That was when he smiled, full on, the white
flash of his teeth nearly blinding in the semi-dark and it was
better than any smile I’d seen him smile before, in person or not.
It was so much better, my entire body got warm again.

Then he murmured, “Transparent.”

“Sorry?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Not
surprised you can swing that.”

I didn’t know exactly why he thought that
but I didn’t get the chance to ask because he was speaking
again.

“I got shit to do early so I gotta hit it. I
leave, you gonna be okay?”

At his open concern, I pressed my lips
together and felt that all over body warmth start seeping into my
soul.

“Yeah, Sam, I’ll be okay.”

His eyes moved over my face.

Then he whispered, “Okay.”

Then, before I could twitch, he was up,
squatting over his chair and his mouth was touching mine.

That’s right, Sampson Cooper’s
mouth
touched
mine.

And it felt sweet. Unbelievably sweet.

My head got light and I blinked repeatedly
when his head moved back and he was so close, all I could see were
his eyes.

“Sleep well and have good dreams, baby,” he
said softly.

Then he was gone.

Unless Life Led You to That

I stood in front of the full-length oval
mirror in my hotel room but I didn’t see anything because I was
blinded by anxiety.

Freaking out.

Totally wound up.

At nine o’clock sharp that morning, the
morning after Sampson Cooper asked me out on a date, I’d called
Celeste. I’d been awake for three hours by that time, waiting (not
patiently) until a time it would not be rude to call.

When she answered, I didn’t even say hello.
I just launched into mile-a-minute speak about the night before,
the Amaretto, Sam, what he said, the fact he asked me out and I
also went into embarrassing detail about who he was, how much and
how long I’d admired him. At some point during my demented
monologue I even cried somewhat hysterically, “He’s seen all my
good shoes!”

When it finally occurred to me how much I
was talking and exactly how much I was exposing, I shut up.

When I shut up, Celeste had been silent for
long, agonizing moments and I feared I’d given it all away and she
was rethinking her newfound friendship with a random American
tourist.

Then she shocked the crap out of me when she
told me, “I’ll be there in an hour,
ma chérie
. Be
ready.”

And she was, as was I.

Off we went to seven shoe shops, our
mission, to find a pair that went with my gown. This took a lot
less time than you would think visiting seven shoe shops and trying
on a plethora of hair-raisingly expensive shoes would take because
Celeste did
not
mess around.

While I tried on shoes Celeste pointed out
and asked the shop assistants to get me in my size, she was on the
phone speaking Italian, to whom and saying what, I didn’t know or
ask because firstly, it wasn’t my business so that would be rude
and secondly, I was freaking out and consumed with finding the
perfect shoes like my life depended on this mission being
successful.

We finally found the shoes that Celeste
decreed would be perfect with my gown and it was good that I agreed
with her (wholeheartedly). Rounding out what was coming to be known
(by me) as my “metal collection” they were gold, they were strappy,
the heel was thinner, more elegant and way sexier even than my
bronze sandals and the awesomest of the awesome was the ankle slap
was unbelievably thin and it wrapped around and around and around
my ankle and tied at the back.

They were not perfect. They were
perfect.
So perfect, they could be displayed in a shoe
museum that was how perfect they were.

But they also cost more than Cooter and my
monthly mortgage.

I bought them.

She then whisked me back to my hotel,
ordering me to put on my bathing suit and sit by the pool,
“Because,
ma chérie,
your glow is lovely but that dress, we
need
gold.
” Then she assured me she’d be back and she took
off.

While I spent time deep breathing at the
pool, she called me and told me I’d have a visitor and I did. And,
get this,
right beside the pool
, a woman showed up, sat
beside then at the foot of my lounger on a low stool and took off
my bright, summery, berry pink finger and toenail polish I’d had my
nails adorned with just the day before and painted my fingers and
toes a peachy gold that was
gorgeous
and would go freaking
beautifully
with my dress and, better, my shoes.

I didn’t even pick the color. Celeste
did.

Seriously, she was the shit.

While lying in the sun, hoping I was going
gold
, I tried not to think about the fact that I was going
out on a date with Sampson Cooper.

And I tried hard to achieve this feat.

And failed.

I also tried to stop myself from calling
and/or texting Paula, Teri and my other friend, Missy (who was not
a Sampson Cooper devotee, as such, she appreciated him, as any
woman would, but she had a different stock of famous hot guys she
obsessed about, still, she was my friend) to tell them about this
astonishing turn of events.

I tried hard with this too and, luckily, I
succeeded.

I succeeded mostly because part of me didn’t
think it would actually happen. He’d stand me up. Or something
better would come along and he’d send a note to say he couldn’t
make it. I didn’t want to tell them this was happening, have them
freak in a good way, as in, I’d probably hear them scream all the
way from Indiana, that kind of good way, and then have to tell them
it didn’t happen.

So I didn’t call or text.

What I did was nurse my nerves until they
became panic.

Luckily, before my panic escalated and I
became paralyzed or did something equally stupid, like run away,
Celeste showed, whisked me back to my room and into the shower. By
the time I did my business in the shower, taking more care with
every aspect of that daily occurrence than I ever had in my life,
even on my wedding day, it was after six. I walked into my room
folded in a robe with a towel wrapped around my hair and Celeste
had a bottle of champagne in a bucket on ice and an enormous
antipasti platter waiting.

I stared at the platter then moved my stare
to Celeste. “Sam told me not to eat, there’d be a spread.”

“Indeed,” she inclined her head, “but a lady
does not arrive at a party famished, and,
chérie,
you’ve had
no lunch,” she reminded me then went on, “and then commence in
devouring every morsel available to her all the while drinking and
becoming intoxicated quickly because she has nothing in her
stomach. She sips champagne. She nibbles. Food, she can take or
leave. Champagne, she drinks like its nothing more than water. She
is beautiful and enchanting because she’s beautiful and enchanting
and gorging on hors d’ouevres and guzzling champagne are
not
beautiful
or
enchanting.” She tipped her head to the
platter. “Eat, Kia, every bit.”

I saw the wisdom in this and ate every bit
while drinking champagne. This wasn’t easy either since my stomach
was tied up in knots but I knew one thing for certain, Celeste had
it going on and she was sharing her worldly ways with me so I did
it.

The hair dresser and makeup artist showed
when the hotel guy took away the empty plates. This, Celeste also
arranged. I did not quibble mainly because I had to admit that I
wasn’t all that hot with doing either. I didn’t look like a clown
or skank when I was done with my makeup and I could make my hair
look decent but I had one way to go, the blowout. Sam had seen that
twice and my dress was not a dress you wore with your hair blown
straight, it was a dress you wore with your hair looking
hot
.

It took an hour but was worth every minute
when the stylist curled every strand of hair then pulled it softly
back from my face and arranged it at my nape in a thick, wide,
beautiful mess of tucked and pinned curls. The makeup artist went
golden, more than likely at Celeste’s command, including dusting a
hint of gold powder along my collarbone. Her handiwork highlighted
my tan in a way I never would have been able to pull off if I was
doing it myself; I wouldn’t have even thought to try.

Then they left, I put on my white, lace
panties (another Parisian purchase, they cost more than the
contents of my whole underwear drawer at home and they weren’t the
only pair I bought) and Celeste instructed me on the proper use of
perfume.