Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) (28 page)

She managed to fake her way through work, one eye on her
watch and the other on her suitcase, propped in a corner of her
office. When her cell phone rang that afternoon, she prayed that
it would be Ted.

Instead it was her friend Allyson. "Is there something you want
to tell me?" Allyson asked.

Erika was too tired and distracted to figure out what Allyson
was demanding. She let out a weary laugh. "No. There's nothing
in the world I want to tell you." Another laugh, and she added, "I told you I'm flying out to Sun Valley this evening, didn't l?"

"Screw Sun Valley. Maybe you don't want to tell me anything,
but I want to tell you something."

"What?"

"I just got a text from Ted Skala. It said, and I quote, `I kissed
that girl Erika last night.' Who is that girl Erika? Which Erika do
you suppose he's talking about?"

Erika laughed again, an eruption of sheer joy. "Oh, Allyson.
I'm in love."

THE THOUGHT OF HER OUT WEST, climbing mountains, gives
you heartburn. She went out west and climbed mountains before,
didn't she? She climbed mountains and stood on snow-capped peaks
and surveyed the world spread out below her, and you weren't in
that vista. She didn't see you at all.

Go slow, Skala. Be careful. Only one woman in the world can
break your heart, and it's Erika Fredell.

If you do nothing else in your entire freaking life, do this: protect
yourself Don't let her hurt you again.

She texted him from Sun Valley. She might be climbing mountains out there, or swimming in the resort pool, or shopping in
the boutiques, or just decompressing from the stresses at work,
but somehow she managed to keep him in her vista. Her texts
were brief and superficial, but he didn't need them to be long and
heartfelt. All he needed was to know that she was thinking about
him at least half as often as he was thinking about her. That kept
him going until she returned home.

Once she did get home, he intended to see her again. He had to see
her again. Was he supposed to ask her out on more dates? Wasn't that
a bit quaint? A bit artificial? After all he and she had been through?

He just wanted to see her, be with her. Absorb her.

His cell rang while he was at his desk. At the second ring, he
swiveled away from the artwork he'd been evaluating, checked his
cell phone's screen to see who his caller was and smiled. "Hey,
Fred," he greeted. "Are you back?"

"Surrounded by skyscrapers instead of mountains. I forgot
how noisy Manhattan is."

"You weren't gone that long."

"It felt like forever." She paused, as if she wasn't sure what
she'd said. He wasn't sure, either, but he interpreted it the way he
wanted to: it felt like forever because she'd missed him. "What
did you do while I was gone?" she asked.

"Ate some pizza, went to some orgies, the usual," he joked. "I
found this pizza place where they go overboard with the olives.
You know those pitted black olives? I love them."

"Then that's the pizza place for you. I hope you enjoyed the
orgies as much as the pizza."

"One orgy is just like another. After a while they get boring."

"So," she said, sounding a little breathless. "Are you all booked
up on the orgy circuit, or can we get together?"

He smiled again. "I'll cancel the orgies. When are you free?"

"Tonight's a mess. How about tomorrow?"

Was she really going to make him wait another day to see her?
"Tomorrow sounds good," he said, hoping he didn't sound as
eager as he felt. "When should I pick you up at your place?" Can I
come up to your apartment this time? he thought but didn't ask. He
was curious to see her home. Gramercy Park was one of the fanciest, priciest neighborhoods in New York. A hell of a lot fancier and
pricier than his little dive in Hoboken. He needed to know if she
was living the life of a Manhattan princess-because if she was ...

Shit. He was searching for barriers. Hoping for protection.
Scrambling for excuses that would allow him to rationalize maintaining his defenses.

Erika wasn't the kind of woman who'd care about whether she
lived in a nicer place than he did. All those years ago, she hadn't
broken up with him because he pumped gas while she was
attending an exclusive private college, right?

Not right. That might have been one of the main reasons she'd
broken up with him.

He exhaled, wishing he could force his insecurities out of his
mind as easily as he could force the air out of his lungs. Erika was
discussing times, and he heard himself promise to be at her place
tomorrow at seven.

Screw her fancy apartment, he told himself once the call had
ended and he'd stashed his phone back in his pocket. He was
going to see her. She wanted to see him. He could protect himself
without succumbing to self-doubt. He was a successful man. No
one could shake his confidence.

Well, one woman could. But only if he let her. And he wouldn't
let her.

She thought about their previous date while she prepared a
plate with treats, her own version of tapas. Initially, she'd thought
that when the doorman signaled her on the intercom that Ted
had arrived, she would ride the elevator down and meet up with
him in the lobby-or outside, if he was leaning against the mailbox and texting someone on his BlackBerry. But then she'd
remembered the way they'd talked at the wine bar, and the way
they'd gazed at each other, and the way she'd felt when he'd
kissed her, and she'd resolved that they were ready for the next
step. The next several steps.

At least she was ready.

Ted's kiss that night, before he'd walked away, convinced her
that he was ready, too.

So had the flurry of emails they'd exchanged yesterday and
today. Every hour or so, she would check her phone and find
another note from him, brief messages, just a few words that
implied so much more than they said: he was thinking about her.
As much, as often, as she was thinking about him.

She'd left work early and stopped at Whole Foods on her way
home to pick up some snacks. Some cheese, some cured meat, and
a tub of pitted black olives, because he'd told her he liked them.

When she'd gotten home, she'd changed into casual clothes,
fixed her hair, put on some makeup-it's just Ted, she'd reminded
herself, although she already knew there was nothing just about
him-and scampered around the apartment, tidying the place
up. There were advantages to having an apartment the size of a
phone booth, she thought as she plumped the pillows on her bed,
which was in full view of the kitchen alcove. No getting around
that. He would walk in and see her bed.

A hot shiver skimmed the length of her spine.

It's Just Ted, she told herself again. He'd already seen her
naked-back when she was a teenage girl with admirably thin
legs and perky breasts and every square inch of skin dewy and
taut. She shouldn't be apprehensive about his seeing her naked
now, even if she was sixteen years older. She was more graceful
these days, she assured herself. She knew a little bit more today
than she'd known then. She would like to think she might have a
better idea of what she was doing and how to please him.

If it came to that. He might stand in the doorway, announce
that he had a seven-fifteen reservation somewhere and they'd
better leave immediately so they wouldn't be late for it, and never even see the platter of meats and cheeses and black olives she'd
prepared, or the wine bottle she'd removed from the refrigerator
so it would be chilled but not icy.

When she'd met him at Fanelli's a few weeks ago, she'd been
nervous because she hadn't known what to expect or what she
wanted. Now that she knew exactly what she wanted, she was
twice as nervous.

Her intercom buzzed. She stopped fussing with the platter of
snacks, rinsed her hands off so they wouldn't reek of olives, and
lifted the receiver. "There's a gentleman here to see you," her
doorman reported. "That Ted Scallop fellow again."

Erika laughed and decided not to correct the doorman's mispronunciation of Ted's name. "Send him up," she said, then set
the receiver back in its cradle and turned to survey the apartment.
All right, he wouldn't see the bed right away. He'd have to enter
the room first, and with the carefully chosen spread and pillows,
her bed could almost pass as a sofa. Not really, but almost.

She sniffed her hands-no olive smell-and then flinched at
the jarring sound of her doorbell. It's just Ted, she whispered
before opening the door.

Seeing him was like getting slapped in the face, only without
the pain. The whole time she'd been in Sun Valley she'd thought
of him, just as she thought of him pretty much every waking
minute when she was home-and most sleeping minutes, too.
But still, viewing him, standing before the man she'd loved as a
boy and acknowledging her love for him now, was jarring. It
lurched her nervous system into a new alignment. It simultaneously clarified her vision and made her see stars.

"Hey, Fred," he said, stepping into the apartment.

He was inside. She closed the door and promised herself that
whatever happened next, whether they left right away or had a nosh and then left, or had a nosh and then didn't leave, would be
fine with her.

"This is it?" he asked, gazing around.

"This is what?"

"Your whole apartment?"

"No, actually it's a duplex, only the stairs are invisible. Yes, it's
my whole apartment."

He took a few steps further into the room. More accurately, a
few steps across the room. Too many steps in any one direction
and he'd collide with a wall. He studied the tiny cafe table and two
chairs she had tucked beneath one of the windows, and the area
rug, and the wall unit that served as a bureau for her clothes, her
computer station, and shelving for books and her TV. He paused
to note the cedar chest that doubled as storage and seating-in an
apartment this compact, everything doubled as something elseand peered up at the high ceiling, which made the room seem
both airier and narrower. After a glance at the framed prints
adorning the walls, he gazed for several long seconds at her bed,
and then he turned back to her. "It's so cute. It's like a doll's house."

"It's all I could afford," she explained. "I mean, Gramercy
Park-half my rent is paying for the address."

He must have sensed defensiveness in her tone. "No, I mean it.
It's not what I expected, but it's really cute."

Cute sounded condescending to her. Dollhouse sounded ...
cute. "Well, it may not be much, but I don't need much." She hesitated, then asked, "What did you expect?"

"Gramercy Park. Big pre-war, wood-burning fireplace, spectacular views-"

"I have a spectacular view of the Chrysler building," she said,
marching him over to the windows. "See?"

He stood beside her, gazing out at the distinctive landmark
tower. "Cool."

"You hate it."

"No." He turned to her. "I like it. I thought you were living in
a palace or something."

"Apparently, I'm living in a dollhouse."

"I guess that makes you a doll." Grinning, he admired her view
of the Chrysler building for a moment longer before he turned
his attention back to the artwork with which she'd decorated her
walls.

One piece of artwork in particular, hanging between the closet
door and the bathroom door, caught his attention. He frowned,
moved closer to it, and frowned more deeply. "Holy shit," he
murmured, clearly amazed.

She moved to stand beside him and admired the drawing he
was staring at. It featured two lovers in bed, flanked by donkeys.
It was bright and whimsical, bizarre and unique.

"I can't believe you saved it all these years," he murmured.

"Not just saved it but had it framed."

He shook his head, still apparently stunned. "I was just a kid
when I drew it. A very angry kid."

"It doesn't look angry. It looks loving," she said.

"I was an angry kid in love." He moved closer, squinting as he
assessed the drawing he'd sent her so many years ago. "I thought
it would bring you back to me. I thought you'd see it and think,
wow, he loves me that much, and you'd leave Colorado and come
home."