Naomi & Bradley, It All Comes Down… (Vodka & Vice, the Series Book 1) (6 page)

BRADLEY

Saturday, February 6th

I go inside and make a pot of coffee, try to figure out what to do.  Naomi’s a smart lady, but she’s also hot as tar beach.  I can’t discount the idea that something has happened to her.  What if the last things between us were terrible words and hurt feelings?  If I really step back and stop being such a
guy
for once, I can see how she might have misread what was going on with Molly.  I guess I never realized she was so insecure.  I thought that was my department.  Sipping and thinking, I wander around the kitchen, open the fridge, close it up, open the pantry, stare at the pastas.  The coffee is excellent; Naomi doesn’t do grocery store java.  I close up the pantry, turn around, and almost drop my mug.  Naomi.

“Hey,” I say, trying to read her face.  She looks tired, like she’s been through the wringer.  That asshole boss of hers again.  Probably had her working all night.  Even tired and a little wrinkled, she looks gorgeous.  For a second, I think about jumping her bones.  It’s been a while.  I try a smile.

“What are you doing here?”  Her tone is more exhausted than angry, but still enough to wipe that grin off my face. 

“I-uh-came to get, um, my stuff?”  Why am I so nervous? 

She looks me up and down and a slight smile crosses her face, and then disappears like the sun in a tornado sky.  “So, get it.  Then get out.  I’m going to change.”  The problem is that she has to go right by me to get to her closet and I’m not budging.  “Excuse me; I need to get by you.”  I cross my arms.

“Go ahead.  Who’s stopping you?”

She frowns, darts left, I follow.  She darts right.  Me too.  Then she tries to do the fake out right, left, left thing, but I’m too quick and she ends up running right into me.  I can’t help myself.  I bury my nose into her hair, needing the freesia and cedar. 
Hold up, this is not her scent
, I think.  I pull back like I’ve stuck my nose in a beehive and then I see it.  She has a
hickey
. 

“What’s the matter with you?”  She asks, pulling her hair over the mark.  “You look like you’ve seen a zombie.”  She stares at me, waiting.

I decide to play it cool, get some intel so I know what or who I’m dealing with.  “New perfume?”  I ask.

“I, uh, stayed in the hotel where I had a work thing last night because I didn’t feel like, um, catching a cab, and, and the company expensed it anyway.” 

She’s blushing like crazy.  Hmmm.  I reach over and pull her hair aside before she can stop me.  “You better tell your ‘work thing’ he shouldn’t leave marks where they are so obvious.”  I pull her hair a little harder than I should, then drop it and walk over to my luggage.

She stands there, silent, just looking at the couch.  I wish she would say something.  At this point, I’d even take a lame excuse like it was a hair straightener accident or a vampire bat.  I make a big show of putting on my coat, like I’m lead model on the Burberry runway, and stoop down to pick up my two bags.  Still, she says nothing.  When I turn around, tears glisten on her cheeks in the harsh midday sun streaming through the skylight.  She opens her mouth and manages to creak out two words:

“I’m sorry.”

My heart drops into my stomach.  I drop the damn bags.  I need to leave, to be outside.  If I stay here one second longer, I’ll suffocate.  The next thing I know, I’m standing on the street, watching the midday traffic stream by.  I have no suitcases, no home, no Naomi, and nothing left to lose.

NAOMI

Saturday, February 6th

He’s gone.

Bradley left, just like that?

Was that our talk?

Him, fighting to get me back?

No explanation about Molly?

Bradley was here only to pick up his
things
, and
I’m
not one of them, not anymore.

And who was he to accuse me of doing anything wrong?  Wasn’t Bradley too busy to call me, dating teenagers and taking hot models out to lunch, wining and dining his new sex partners?  The damn bastard.  I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to continue to pay his credit card bills.

Why did I say
I
was sorry?  Wasn’t that his line?

Every warning my mother ever gave me about men comes back to roost.  They line up like black crows on a clothesline.

Short attention span---bored with one woman---insincere---liars---not to be trusted---you can’t hold one Naomi---not a plain little girl like you.

The entire flock of forewarnings flash in my head like red flags over a sinking ship.

Mayday.

Mayday.

Going under.

No one in sight to throw me a life preserver.

No man.

No job.

No family.

No professional future once Carl Swartz hears about my drunken lunch with Mr. Big Billionaire.

I rip off my wrinkled black skirt and white blouse and toss them into the trash.  I’ll never wear another outfit like that again as long as I live.  I change into workout gear and stretch.  It’s either that or punch out a window.

I fight, swinging my fists into the air, imagining Bradley, Carl, my mother, and my cheating father whose philandering warped mother’s brain.  I twist and spin, I kick out, and I slap, until my anger is gone and all that’s left is this unimaginable sense of loneliness and loss.

It’s still not enough.  I grab my key, and race out into the hallway, hit the elevator on the run, as the doors are closing, I glance over to see Chase inside with me.  He’s leaning against the mirrored wall, watching me. 

“Hi.”

“Oh hi, I didn’t know you lived on my floor.”

“Since fall.  Going to work out?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I look at his tight black jeans, and red sweater and smirk.

“Doesn’t look like you’re dressed for it.”

“I’ll just watch you.”

He winks.

I’m so not in the mood.  Everything hits me at once, an idea, and a suspicion.  As the elevator hits the gym floor, I change my stance, turn, and smile.

“Okay.”

We enter the gym, go over to that beast of a leg lift machine, and Chase automatically starts to adjust the seat, change the weight setting for me, as if he’s known me for years, instead of a month.

I smile as he nods to indicate that it’s all set and I hop on, starting my reps.

“So Chase, when you talked to me for weeks about Molly, your girlfriend, you knew I lived on your floor in this building.  You must have known I lived with someone named Bradley too.”

I try for casual, look out the window, glance at my moving legs.

“Not at first.  But when Molly broke up with me, and confessed to her animalisti
c
affair with a guy named Bradley, she let slip he lived in my building.  I put it together.  I thought you should know.  Bradley was making a fool out of you.  I bet they both laughed themselves sick knowing how gullible you were.  Molly called you, Naomi the blind.”

That hurt.

The pain’s so sharp in my chest, for a second I wonder if Chase has physically struck me.

I stop moving, my heart is racing, and my throat is tightly closing.

“Their
animalistic affair
?”  I choke, and struggle to stay calm.

“Yep.  Remember, I told you, Molly’s sexually warped.  She likes to try new sleazy things.  Dress up, roleplay, kidnapper and victim, customer and whore, master and slave.  Molly confessed to me that her new man Bradley could be talked into trying any twisted role she desired.  It seems like he’s very talented in the adventurous positions and locking handcuffs in place.”

I swallow.  Was that Bradley?  He was easygoing, leadable.  But adventurous?  Not with me.  He’d gotten almost repetitive and boring while making love to me lately.  Was that why?  Was he saving up all his spicy stuff for Molly?  Was I a duty fuck to rush through, just enough effort for me to keep paying all the bills? 

Chase sees how upset I am and he shifts his feet, bends over and opens a drawer of folded towels, takes one out and offers it to me.

I stop moving my legs.  I feel sick.  I accept the white towel and I wipe the tears quickly off my face.  I’m so upset I didn’t realize I was crying.

“You okay?”

“Sure, peachy.”

Chase blushes, and bites his lip.  I wonder if he’s regretting telling me all the seedy details of Bradley and Molly.  I wish I’d never heard half of them.  In a surprise move, he reaches out and brushes the hair out of my eyes and smiles tenderly at me.

“Man, does my boss have a crush on you.”

Chase lets his easy remark slide off his tongue like warm ice cream and I jump and stare at him.

“What?  Who?”

“Darren Broderick of course.  He’s been mooning over you for ages.  Ever since that first day at the annual meeting at McMaster Swartz.  I hear you walked into the conference room, files in hand, showing off your gorgeous figure in some black, tight suit.  You brought him coffee, your eyes met…”

Chase laughs and I smile.

His expression is funny and I try to breathe normally.  I start moving my legs again.

“How long have you known Darren?”  I toss out casually.

“All my life.”

“Really, you mean like neighbors or school friends?”

“No, like brothers.”

Well, wasn’t that weird I thought, and didn’t it change just about everything?

BRADLEY

Saturday, February 6th

I don’t know what made me turn around before leaving our street, but when I did, that creepy, blonde guy from our gym was there in the doorway, just staring at me.  Weird.  I tried staring him down, but he just half-smiled and went back inside.

Now I’m back at Manny’s.  Funds are kind of tight right now; I haven’t worked in a year.  I gave up everything to help Naomi get the apartment in shape and move all her stuff. 
No biggie
, I thought.  Then my agency dropped me and a few other guys who just hit the big three-oh, and my savings kind of dried up. 

“Hey Manny,” I yell into his bathroom, “got anything to eat?”  He doesn’t answer, so I scrounge around his fridge.  I find three jars of hot sauce, a carton of curdled milk, and a case of Coronas.  Guess I’m drinking my dinner.  What did dad call beer?  Oh yeah, liquid bread.  He had one with his lunch and several during dinner every day.  Used to sneak some to me, but the nannies were too fast for him and always swiped it away before it could hit my mouth.  This one makes it in and it goes down smooth and cold.

“Good idea, bruh,” Manny says, nodding at my beer.  “Nothing goes better with Korean food than Mexican beer.

“You go ahead without me, dude.  I’m not hungry.”  I lie.

“I know you ain’t got the money, dude, no worries.  We’re going to Kwang’s.”

“No way,” I answer, “he finally did it?”

“Yep, just took a couple of years of funneling his money into my bank account and then it was like,
later North Korea
.  So yeah, you are coming with me and you will be drinking.”

Shit
.

Ten shots of Soju later, I’m digging into some righteous bulgogi and a memory of Naomi cooking Korean food floods into my brain like a coke rush.  I can’t get the fork to my mouth. 
Gotta call her! 
It’s as though my brain has shut it all down until I speak to her.  I’m starving, I want the food, I see the food, but all I hear in my head is,
call her call her call her
.  So I pull out my phone and hit speed dial.  No answer.  Again, beep, no answer.  I try texting: 
u busy?  What’s up?  Talk?
  Call again.  And again.  Manny gets pissed off and goes to the bar to chat with Kwang.

Some time around one, about fifty text messages and at least twenty increasingly drunken voice messages later, I come out of my daze to find Manny at the bar, surrounded by a dozen Korean beauties.  He’s got a mic and he’s flipping through a catalogue.  He waves me over.

“C’mere, dude, check it out, now, check it out,” he’s really animated, it’s possible there are several chemicals involved.  “We’re gonna be singing and these lovely ladies gonna be our back up singers.”  He grins at me and winks, but I don’t feel in on the joke.  All I can think about is Naomi.  Why isn’t she answering?  Manny takes the stage with the ladies, already forgetting about me.  I duck out; wander the streets around K-town.  It’s beyond freezing.  The scent of honey-roasted peanuts mingles with the fried meat of the gyro trucks as I cross Broadway.  I head over to Herald Square to catch a subway back down to Manny’s.  The windows of Macy’s are oozing with romance.  I had almost forgotten Valentine’s Day was coming up.  Last year at this time, I was planning a majorly romantic get-away to surprise Naomi with.  A buddy of mine from the runway circuit owns a house in Oaxaca, right on a private beach.  I bought plane tickets, picked her up for our ‘dinner,’ and took her right to the airport instead.  It was ten below with the wind chill that night, but the next morning, boom:  eighty-five and sunny.  We didn’t get dressed for three days. 

As I descend the filthy steps to the F train, I pass a rat eating a piece of pizza.  The train is pulling in and as I race toward the platform, I feel my phone vibrate, then the signal is lost.  This is going to be one long ride.

When I get out of the subway and into the fresh air, I feel so pumped. 
It’s just gotta be Naomi
, I think.  Sure enough, there it is:  her name on my screen like a blessing.  I take off my glove, my hand is instantly frozen, and I don’t care.  I tap the screen and her message appears.

“You don’t have to explain now, not that you tried.  I talked to a friend of Molly’s and he told me everything.  What you two were doing together, how you met, all the intrigue.”

Oh, yeah, this is great.  All cleared up.  I type back.

“So you know?”

She answers right away.

“Yes, I know every last detail.  Why you were seeing Molly.  What you two were doing.  All of the fascinating conversations and meetups.”

I wonder how she found out?  What friend of Molly’s?  Did she mean that Chase guy again?

“I’m glad baby.”

I wait.  There’s a lag, so I start walking toward Manny’s.  My hand is starting toward frostbite.  Then I hear the ping of her answer.

“You are?”

Aw, poor thing.  She was really worried about me being mad.  Her self-esteem must be hurting.  Maybe if she knows how hard I was working to get her to marry me?  I type back as fast as my stiff fingers will let me.

“Sure, I mean, I don’t want to brag but it took me awhile online to find Molly.  I felt pretty lucky.  I mean she’s got this great young vibe going on and her ideas are primo.”

I’m finally at Manny’s.  It’s three o’clock and the street’s deserted.  As I’m letting myself into the lobby, I hear her ping.

“Yes, I heard about her ‘young vibe.’  For the last month you two have been very busy executing those primo ideas.  You’re really something Bradley.  I never guessed you would act that way.”

Hah!  That’s right you never would have, I say to the phone.  I type.

“Yeah, I could NEVER have come up with some of that stuff.  Fantastic.”

She answers immediately, just as I’m punching the elevator button.

“Hell Bradley, I can’t believe you’re being so blunt about it.”

What does she expect?  Crazy girl.  Now that everything’s out, it’s actually kind of funny.  We’ll be telling our grandkids this story one day.  I tap out my reply, chuckling as I enter the elevator.

“Well, it’s too late now, you know my whole ‘dirty secret’ lol.  The way I got away with it was I met up with Molly when you were at the gym, or when I was supposed to be, lol.”

I wait the interminable forty seconds it takes to get to Manny’s floor and as I’m exiting, I see this:

“I don’t understand what’s so funny?”

Hmmm.  Usually, she likes my ‘lols.’  We tend to think everything is funny.  I try a different tack.

“I’m just so relieved you know everything now.  Molly had some very strange things we could try and I went along with her, and I liked them.  We could still use her ideas, if you want.  I’m down if you are ;)”

Oh, yes, winky face it is.  Bradley, you sly devil.  Now I’ll just wait for the good news.  Ping.  Here it is.

“You kidding me?  Bradley, what’s gotten into you?  I guess that’s straight enough.  And what about the redhead I saw you with at lunch the next day?  Is she going to join in?”

What the?  That WAS Naomi I saw outside the bar.  I wonder why she didn’t come in.  She loves Mexican.  Oh shit.  She must have thought I was on a date or something.  Hold up.  This is fixable.

“What?!  No, lMAO.  I stayed at Manny’s place after I got rid of Molly.  He had models over, so they tagged along for lunch.”

There.  She can’t argue with that.  It’s the truth.  Now we can get back to business.  I wait; watch her little ellipses undulate as she replies.  I can’t wait to see her undulate in person.  Maybe I could still go over there tonight, or this morning actually, it’s almost four.

“Shit!  Sounds like you’re having a super frickin’ good time, a teenager, and Manny’s models.  You sound happy, excited, am I supposed to be thrilled for you Bradley?  I guess that explains everything.  And by the way that mark on my neck, it was nothing, totally innocent, for now.”

Uh oh.  This can’t be good.  Why would she be bringing THAT up?  It’s like she’s trying to pick a fight.  But why?  This has been going so well.  It doesn’t make sense.  Let’s see, it’s around the beginning of the month.  Hmmm.

“What does that even mean?  Do you have your period?  Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get to give you your big surprise at the theatre.  Molly and I were going to come clean, spring it on you in front of everyone.”

That was a gamble.  She hates when I blame her period for her mood swings, but dammit, that’s what happens.  Every.  Month.  Anyway, the part about the theatre should bring her back.  What an awesome idea that was.  I wait.  And wait.  I pour myself a scotch because, what the hell.  Ping.

“Wow!  What could be more fun than that?  You sure turned damn cold.  You were planning on telling me in front of a crowd?  What the hell?  I guess there’s nothing left to say to each other after this conversation.  You forgot your stuff.  I’ll put it downstairs in our storage area, Gus can let you inside.  You can pick it up there without ever seeing me again.  Bye Bradley.”

What the--?  Where is that coming from?  It’s like we’ve been having two different conversations.  I type furiously.

“Wait!  What?  We’re still breaking up?”

I wait and drink scotch and pour more and drink that too.  I try another couple of question marks, hoping she’ll type back a ‘lol’ or ‘jk’ but none come.  That can only mean one thing:  there’s something or someone else, and I’m going to find out what or who is trying to come between us.  I down my scotch and pass out on the sofa.