No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (12 page)

God knew what she was doing when she made Bethany the older sister. She’s a pediatrician, and since marrying Ben, spends three days a week going door to door in the poorest areas of New Orleans, treating babies and children who might not otherwise receive any medical care. The other two days, she volunteers in her daughters’ pre-school. Bethany is poised and beautiful and does everything perfectly.

Ben and Bethany sweep through the crowd, charming their subjects with funny anecdotes, cheek pecks, and stiff-arm hugs. Meanwhile, Tripp and I slip off the stage and bolt for the commercial kitchen located off of the ballroom. Earlier, I’d stashed a bottle of champagne there for us to split as we do our best to avoid the crowded bar.

We find my bottle in the back of the fridge and exit through the staff entrance, wind our way down a brick path, which leads to the pool house, and finally find refuge in there. It’s silent, except for our giggles. Tripp and I’ve been doing things we shouldn’t in this pool house for most of our lives. Usually, Bella would be with us, but she’s not old money enough to be invited to this party.

The pool house is one large room with French doors that open onto the rectangular-shaped Olympic-sized pool. Grandmother has it comfortably designed with wicker furniture purchased from Cape Cod and lovingly restored. There’s a bathroom with a shower in the corner and two changing rooms constructed from curtains. In one corner, there’s a functional kitchen with enough gadgets and appliances to make a meal.

The outdoor landscape lighting and pool lights provide enough of an ambient glow that we don’t need to call attention to ourselves by turning on the lights.

Tripp pops the cork and takes the first swig from the bottle. “Grandmother has amazing taste in champagne.”

I giggle and snatch the bottle away from him. “Yes. She does. This one is from her personal collection. She’ll blame a party-goer for stealing it.”

We settle into the very uncomfortable antique wicker couch. Tripp puts his arm around my shoulders. If you saw us right now, you’d never know that we’re in our early thirties and that he’s a self-made millionaire. When we’re around each other, we behave more like college kids. It’s one of the many things I love about Tripp.

“How ya doing, MK?”

“Good,” I reply. “How was the location for the new carwash?”

“Good,” he replies. “It’s in a sketchy part of town. The city is asking me to invest in the neighborhood, but I’m worried. As much as I’m for helping to revitalize rundown areas of New Orleans, I don’t want to make a bad investment.”

“Understandable,” I reply, taking a drink. “Are they willing to help?”

“Who? The city?” He takes the bottle back from me. “Donate the land, if I pay for the construction.”

We sit in silence except for the slurping sounds we make when we drink from the bottle. This feels so familiar, comfortable. When I’m with Tripp, I never question his motives or wonder what he’s thinking. I know Tripp like I know the back of my hand. It’s refreshing after my night with Aaron.

“This might be an inappropriate question, but I haven’t asked in a while. Are you seeing anyone?”

Swallowing hard, I contemplate my answer. I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to hurt him. I’m not even sure where things are with Aaron. It’s all so mushy. “I met a guy and have gone on two dates.” I count last night as a date, even though it was more of an ambush.

“Do you like him?” he asks. His voice is controlled, and his fist tightens around the neck of the bottle.

Trying to be sensitive to his feelings, but also being honest, I reply, “Yeah. I kinda think I do.”

His eyes move from me to the ground. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s quiet for a bit before he replies, “I hope you’re happy, MK.”

I rub his back, feeling like the worst person ever. I’d rather eat rusty nails than hurt my friend, but I can’t give him false hope. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Tripp. You asked. We’ve been over for like twelve years. You’re my friend.”

“I guess I thought one day you’d realize how great we could be together.” His whispered words cut me to the quick. He’s such a good man.

I’d give anything to change how I feel about him. The person who ultimately wins his heart is as lucky as a lottery winner. I wish that person was me. “We tried dating and discovered we were much better friends. We found sex with each other to be icky. There’s no sexual chemistry between us.”

He turns to me, and I catch my reflection in his glassy eyes. “We were kids fucking off.” He stands up, taking a swig from the bottle. “I didn’t know how to make love and neither did you. We’re in our thirties now.” He turns away from me and my heart aches. Silently, I pray that I don’t lose his friendship. He throws his hands up as if he’s done with me. “God, don’t hold shit against us because we were seventeen.”

“Kiss me.” The words just pop out of my mouth before my brain can stop them. This is probably a huge mistake, but one I think needs to be made.

He turns back in my direction and stares down at me with huge brown eyes. “What?” His face crinkles in confusion.

“Kiss me, Tripp. Kiss me like there’s no tomorrow.” Has there ever been a worse line? I’m trying here. I’m pleading with my heart to feel something. Anything. Just a spark will do. One flicker and I will never talk to Aaron again.

“You sure?” he asks as he sits down next to me.

“Absolutely.” I nod in confirmation, looking much more confident than I feel.

Awkwardly, he scoots closer and places his left hand on my hair. I lean into his touch. We both turn our heads in the same direction and bump noses. Then we try to correct and both go the other way.

His breath smells of champagne and vanilla. It’s okay. I can live with that.

We both lean forward and our teeth clank together as his tongue slides in my mouth. My tongue twists with his and they stroke each other, almost as if they’re petting.
Please let me feel something.

There’s no romance. No sparks. No fireworks. There’s not even an ounce of this being okay. I feel as if I’m drowning in spit.

I end our kiss by pulling away and grasping his dear face between my palms. His eyes look dreamy, and I pray I’m just imagining things and that he didn’t think that was good. “See, Tripp? No chemistry.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “You and I were always meant to be just friends.”

He leaps to his feet and shoves the bottle of champagne at me. I grasp it as it sloshes out of the bottle and onto my dress.

Tripp storms out of the pool house with the parting words, “A good marriage isn’t based on fucking, MK. It’s friendship, and I don’t understand why you can’t see how great we could be together.”

The French doors slam so hard behind him that the windows vibrate, and so does my soul.

“God, my life,” I mutter. In the span of four days, the two people closest to me have essentially said the same thing. Tripp just echoed Bella’s words. At thirty, do you have to start settling? Bella seems to think so. Tripp is perfect on paper, but the thought of kissing him like that every night for the rest of my life makes me queasy. My head falls into my hands as his words rattle my bones. Maybe Tripp is right. A marriage isn’t based on sex, but there has to be some sexual attraction, right?

I take two more gigantic swigs from the bottle and pour the rest down the sink. It’s sad saying goodbye to such yumminess, but three-fourths of a bottle of champagne before Grandmother has even joined her event is a horrible idea.

Dragging myself back to the ballroom, I feel like the worst human being alive. My family already adores Tripp. Why can’t I have feelings for him? My life would be so much easier if I could convince my brain that Tripp was the person that I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

As I enter the ballroom through the commercial kitchen entrance, I hope against hope that the fire alarm has gone off and all the party-goers have been evacuated. I’m not wishing for a fire, just a false alarm.

Of course, this doesn’t happen, and the party is still in full swing. Maybe I should wish instead that I have mutant powers like one of the X-Men. I’d want to be able to camouflage myself to the surroundings. That way I could people-watch without being caught.

I hang out on the periphery of the crowd. The U.S. Senator for the great state of Louisiana is talking to an author who has made a ton of money writing vampire books. I’ve met her before. She’s eccentric and fun. I’d love to visit with her again, but it looks like they’re having a deep discussion.

Then, I see the owner of the company I work for. Michael and his wife are not invited, but Grandmother and Michael’s father are longtime friends of our family. My plan is to try to avoid speaking to him. He’s a nice enough man, and he treats his employees well, but he always feels the need to remind me of the generosity he showed in giving me my job.

The women are decked out in their jewels tonight. Large diamonds accentuate earlobes and colored stones hang from necks. One of Grandmother’s friends has diamond rings on six of her ten fingers. Discreetly, I extract my phone from the dress’s built-in bra and snap a few pictures. Fortunately, the crystal chandeliers put off enough light that I can get decent images without needing a flash. I tweet the pictures to my followers who seem to really enjoy seeing how well dressed all the ladies are.

The air is rich with perfume and the scent of the flowers which decorate the ballroom. This year, the floral designs were done by a company out of Los Angeles. Some of the arrangements are taller than me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tripp visiting with my mother. Guess there’s no way of avoiding this uncomfortable situation. My shoulders roll back, my stomach sucked in, and my boobs are pushed out as I make my way to the laughing duo.

“Darling,” Mother gushes. “Aren’t you just gorgeous?” She wraps her arm around Tripp’s waist in a sideways hug and kisses my cheek. “Tripp here tells me you’re considering going skiing with his family in March. I think that’s a lovely idea. It’s been . . . what? . . . probably five years since you last went. You just have to be careful. Everyone knows poor MK has a knack for injuries.”

Tripp and I are about to engage in a social dance. He’s smiling a smug smile, and it takes all of my manners to not roll my eyes.

“Oh, Tripp. Don’t you remember? I couldn’t get off work.” My features are relaxed, but I want to dig my spiked heel into his big toe for putting me in this position. My parents adore Tripp, and his family passes the old New Orleans money test. They can’t understand why we aren’t married yet.

Tripp throws back his head and laughs. “Mrs. Landry, I bet you could persuade MK’s boss to let her off work. We could go talk to him now. I just saw him a few minutes ago.”

Fortunately, I’m able to distract my mother with a bit of gossip about one of the families I went to high school with. She’s so consumed with the details she forgets about my skiing trip with her hopefully future-son-in-law.

“Excuse me,” a man dressed all in black says. “I’m here to photograph the event. Would you two mind posing for a photo?”

My mother graciously steps to the side, and Tripp and I stand together. I think the photographer meant he wanted a picture of my mom and me, but he’s too polite to correct her.

I’m tight against his ribs while he rests his hand on the small of my back. His touch is wrong and unnatural. My smile is fake and plastered on as the photographer takes a few shots from different angles. Then, he thanks us and moves to another couple.

“You’re an asshole,” I whisper. “Why did you tell her about the ski trip?” I say all of this through a smile. “I told you I wasn’t interested in going weeks ago.”

“Apparently it’s time to play dirty, MK,” he says, and he brushes a kiss on my cheek before he walks away.

Spinning on my heels, I head in the opposite direction. My goals for the rest of the night become to avoid Tripp, stay at the ball the minimum amount of time to keep Grandmother happy while still maintaining my sanity, and get a good enough buzz to make this evening tolerable.

A waiter walks by carrying a tray of champagne flutes filled with bubbly. As I snag one, I spy one of my sorority sisters who is the morning news anchor at the local ABC affiliate. Jeannie is as stunning as she was when she was nineteen with her perfectly coiffed blond curls.

We greet each other with a kiss on the cheek, and she introduces me to her boyfriend who plays football for the New Orleans Saints. Tony is his name, and he’s a legend in the New Orleans social circles. He’s tall, muscular, tanned, and has a face that makes girls hand him their panties. He’s played his whole career here and made his way around single, under-the-age-of-thirty girls.

“Tony,” I greet him with a peck to the cheek. “Your boyfriend and I’ve met before.” I leave out the part where we had crazy sex on his balcony in the French Quarter about five years ago. He’d wanted a relationship, but I wasn’t dumb enough to date the playboy football player.

Jeannie is always polished. Even if you ran into her at the gym, she’d look like a million bucks. It’s annoying. Tonight, she’s wearing a gorgeous shade of green, which reminds me of a spring meadow. I adore her, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.

“How have you been? I’ve heard your website is really doing well,” she gushes.

Bella must have told her. “It is. Bella and I are enjoying working on it.”

Jeannie turns to Tony. “MK has a site called NoPinkCaddy.com. Isn’t that clever?”

We fake laugh.

Tony replies, “Like your name is Mary Kay, but you don’t have a pink Cadillac like what those ladies who sell the makeup earn.”

“That’s right. Like I’m not the same Mary Kay who owns a cosmetics empire.” Wow. This is a super conversation. How much longer do I have to be here?

“We’d love to feature you on the morning show,” Jeannie says. “Maybe you could cook for us or do something like that.”

“Sure,” I politely reply. I will not hold my breath.

“I saw you’re here with Tripp. Are you two an item again?” she asks conspiratorially.

“He’s my really good friend.” Another polite smile. The waiter with the champagne tray walks by, and I swap my empty for a full.