Rebound (23 page)

Susan gulped, turned
away from Liz, and slowly started driving down the lane again. “I’m
sure I’ll love anything he picks for me.”

* * * *

Lance was waiting for
Liz and Susan at Liz’s apartment. He ushered Susan back to the
bathroom and ordered her to shower, immediately. When she emerged
from the bathroom, he had reinforcements. A woman with tiny hands
and perfect olive skin started on her fingernails. A tall man with
a goatee and long black hair tied back in a ponytail trimmed her
dead ends off with quick precision, blew her hair dry and started
straight ironing it into submission. And a pretty blond boy, no
more than twenty years old, started in on Susan’s face, brushes
light as feathers as he magically erased the two zits she’d been
cultivating on her two-week hiatus.

Lance and the three
beauty artisans stripped Susan from her robe, clad her in some of
her sexy underwear, then pulled out a garment bag. “You are going
to love this!” Lance announced as he ripped down the zipper.

* * * *

Liz sat in her living
room, watching a hockey game on ESPN. She didn’t care who won, she
just wanted to see some violence, and her favorite violence
wouldn’t be on for another hour and a half. Ultimate Cage Fighting
where men in tight shorts start off kickboxing, and end up
grappling and beating each other to a pulp. It was better than gay
porn--same positions, just none of the silly camera angles or bad
dialogue.

Liz noticed the door
to her bedroom was opening, and she leaned to look around her big
screen TV. There stood Susan, looking truly stunning in a sky-blue
strapless silk sheath, knee length, that hugged her body like the
proverbial glove.

She also seemed to be
glowing, her face radiant and natural-looking, her blond hair swept
back from her face, flowing down her back.

“You look like a
goddess.” Liz got up and walked around her friend with appraising
eyes.

“I feel like Miss
America.”

“Oh, please. You look
way better than one of those bleach-blond hussies. Your blond is
natural.”

Susan giggled.

“Just one last
touch,” Liz said, stepping over to the couch and grabbing her
purse.

“Well, I don’t think
anything else is going to fit in here,” Susan said as she ran her
hand down the side of her dress.

Both women froze and
looked at each other, each looking like they had bad tastes in
their mouths.

“
If you start
quoting
Pretty
Woman
, so help me I’ll just
lock you in my bathroom and forget the whole thing. I’d rather see
you shackled to my toilet than have you start regurgitating lines
from that movie again. How many guys freshman year heard, ‘Just in
case I forget...’--dramatic pause--‘I had a really nice time.’” She
shuddered. “Vomit!”

Susan rolled her
eyes. “Just hope you didn’t get me some overpriced necklace, or
you’ll be Richard Gear.”

“Nope, no necklace.
But what does any young woman need when she’s going off to a
ball?”

“Sensible shoes.”
Susan looked down at the three-inch Gucci mules she had on her
feet. “They’re gorgeous, but I’ll be hobbled by morning.”

“Oh please! By
morning you’ll be in a soft cushy bed with your feet up in the air.
You probably won’t have to stand for a week if I know Kevin.”

Susan’s face blushed
a bright red. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand.

“Back to the subject
at hand. What a girl needs most when going to a ball is...” Liz
held out a fancy gilt lettered envelope. “An invitation.”

Susan smiled as she
took the envelope. Her name was printed in golden type. “It looks
like an invitation to a royal wedding. You have a side business in
counterfeiting?”

“Nope. I just called
up old Francesca and asked for you to be put on the guest
list.”

Susan’s jaw dropped.
“Francesca actually invited me?”

Liz scoffed. “The
woman is practically a criminal mastermind. She knows Kevin will be
leaving if you don’t come and claim him, and she wants him to stay
and keep working for her.”

Susan hugged herself.
“Do you really think he’ll stay for me?”

“Honey, that man
would swim the freaking Atlantic Ocean to get to you.” Liz paused
and smiled wickedly. “Hell, he’d probably take a swim through my
vagina to get to you.”

* * * *

Kevin stood on the
balcony looking out over all of downtown Chicago. He could see
where his opera house would be constructed. He could see the
immense tower of steel and glass where Costa Consortium was
officed. And he could see the neighborhood where Susan’s apartment
building was. Thankfully, he couldn’t make out in the evening light
which building was hers.

He set down his
untouched glass of champagne. He’d only been holding it to look
festive. He was only there, truly, to support Francesca and the
project. He knew she wanted to show him off. He hadn’t realized she
would be telling everyone who would listen that it had been his
design, and solely his. He’d thought she would take some credit.
But she just kept introducing him as “the designer of the new
Chicago Metropolitan Opera House.”

He’d never
faked a smile for so long. His face felt ready to fall off. He
loosened his bow tie a bit, probably ruining the effect of
Francesca’s perfect tie job.
Oh, well.
He’d
dressed up in the monkey suit for her benefit. She couldn’t
begrudge him messing it up a little.

His hands gripped the
railing of the balcony as his mind flashed back to having Susan in
his arms, naked against him, pressing herself hard against his
chest. Her breath had been so hot and fast. For a moment he’d
almost stopped, worried he was hurting her, but then she’d taken
his nipple into her mouth and had bitten, just hard enough to send
him over the edge.

And like having a
page ripped out of a book, the memory was gone, fluttering off,
lost into the wind and night. How many people on balconies, or on
the street, had such memories rush through their heads, just to
have them torn away in an instant. The street, the sky, they must
be littered with them.

Kevin couldn’t wait
for the party to be over. The instant it was, he’d hop in a cab
with his already packed luggage and head off to the airport.
Anywhere would be better than here. Anywhere where he’d never been
with Susan, which gave him all destinations in the world except
three: Dartmouth College, Cancun, and Chicago.

The world would be
his oyster, or some shit like that.

And maybe, somewhere
along the way, he’d stop thinking about her? Right?

Ri-ight
.

Okay, lessening his
own pain wasn’t quite cutting it when it came to reasons to leave.
But what was enough reason was that Susan could not be in the same
city with him. She’d been MIA for two whole weeks. Even Liz
couldn’t find her. Not that he’d believed her that first week. No,
she’d been lying about sending out the hounds and checking under
ever stone. But after that first week, Liz’s voice had changed, he
wasn’t just calling her, she was calling him, asking questions,
checking to see if Susan had contacted him.

She’d mentioned
phoning Susan’s mother.

He’d known right then
that Liz was desperate to find Susan.

Maybe she’d find her.
Maybe she’d talk her into coming back to town. Now that he would be
gone she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or whatever
it was she’d been feeling. Whatever feeling she’d been having that
drove her out of the city, from her home and work and friends.

Maybe he’d ditch the
rest of the party, head for the airport early. .

His hand went
reflexively to the breast pocket of his tuxedo. He didn’t remember
actually putting it there, yet there it was--the ring, in its satin
covered little box. How utterly pathetic.

“How long am I gonna
carry you around?” he said to the box. He gripped the velvet tight
in his fingers and looked out onto the city. One good throw and
he’d never find it, never have to hold it or look at it again. It
would never burden his pockets again.

“Don’t throw it
away.” Francesca strolled onto the balcony and stood beside him,
her fierce blue eyes practically glowing in the moonlight. They
even outsparkled her beaded gown.

Kevin was tempted to
palm the ring and slip it back in his pocket, but Francesca
wouldn’t be fooled.

“I keep trying to
leave it behind, in my hotel room, but I can’t let it go.”

She took the box from
his hand and opened it. The diamond ring flashed and sparkled. She
closed it and pressed it back into his palm. “It’s hard to part
with something so beautiful.” She stepped around and looked up into
Kevin’s eyes. “It’s even harder to give up something we love.”

“Francesca--”

“I’m just telling you
not to be too hasty. Things change.”

“Yeah, and not always
for the best.” If Asshole Mark had just been a man and married
Susan, none of this would’ve happened!

Francesca reached up
and patted his cheek with her silky hand; her smile would’ve melted
anyone’s heart. “But it can change for the better too. Don’t forget
that.” She turned and started gliding away in a practiced sweeping
movement, sexy and elegant all at once. She turned back and shot
him with a knowing look. “And don’t even think of leaving before
the party’s over. I have a little something special planned, and
you’ll ruin it for me if you aren’t there.”

Kevin stood there,
stunned. She was good. How’d she know he was thinking about leaving
early...and man, did she have a master’s degree in guilt or
what?

* * * *

In her haste to
get into the building Susan slipped getting out of the car, turning
her ankle.
Damn
heels!
She staggered for a few
feet before she regained her footing. Her ankle hurt, but she still
needed to get to the party. The doorman was young and pretty, and
not only held the door but asked if she was all right.

He’d seen her
slip.

“I’m fine, thank you.
Where to for the Costa Gala?”

“
Just take any
of the elevators to the top floor, ma’am.” He tilted his hat and
looked like John Wayne. He didn’t really. But he made her think of
John Wayne. And she thought of
The Quiet Man
,
and then of Kevin dragging her across that beach six months ago.
How warm and strong his hand had been.

Susan gulped and
teetered on her heels as she maneuvered herself toward the bank of
elevators. The doors to all the elevators were polished to a
gleaming mirror-like shine. She caught sight of her reflection and
thought again that Lance had done well by her, very well. She
couldn’t remember a single day in her life she’d looked prettier,
or more stylish.

Except she had this
expression on her face. What was it? Desperation? Hunger? Need?

She shook all the
thoughts from her head when the doors to the closest elevator
opened to the tintinnabulation of a fictitious bell. She entered
the mirror lined box, hit the button for the top floor and waited
for the doors to close.

And then it hit her:
she was going to have to tell Kevin she loved him.

Sounded easy, but
just thinking about saying it to him make her mouth as dry as the
Sahara, and her knees start to shake. No, her knees were just tired
because of the turned ankle, and the long ass drive back to the
city, and the nature hike she’d gone on right before Liz had shown
up. And the cotton mouth was just because she was dehydrated,
nothing more.

I
love you
.

It didn’t sound right
in her head. Sure, she could hear herself saying it, her voice
wrapping itself around it, could even feel it on the tip of her
tongue, taste it like candy, roll it around, sizing it up, weighing
it, frantically calculating how it would come out.

I
love you.

No, that was too
short, too blunt. She needed more. She couldn’t just throw that at
him without some kind of wind up.

Kevin
, I love
you.

Yeah, that’s so much better.

“I know I’ve
been--insane?” she whispered under her breath. “Crazed? Acting like
a cat in heat? But it’s just because I’m...I’m so...sooo...”

Okay, more words
weren’t going to help. Susan took a deep breath. She’d just walk
right up to him and kiss him. Kiss him hard, say everything she
couldn’t say with her lips and tongue, with…well, her lips and
tongue.

She slapped herself
in the forehead just as the doors of the elevator slid open. A
waiter with a silver tray of champagne flutes stood there and
offered her a glass. She smiled gratefully and scooped one up and
downed it, throwing it back like a shot, chugging it in three long
gulps. She closed her eyes as the cold sparkling alcohol washed
over her parched tongue and slid down her dry throat. She opened
her eyes, ignoring the startled look on the waiter’s face as she
set the empty glass back on the tray, and took another glass.

“Liquid courage?” The
warm, silky voice of Francesca Costa slipped through the air and
made Susan’s heart stop cold. “I think you’ve tried that
before--not a good idea.” She took the glass from Susan’s hand and
placed it back on the tray. “But I’m so glad to see you could make
it. I was about to send a search party out for you.”

“
For
me?”
Why the hell
does she care? Oh, right. She doesn’t want to lose her new top
architect.

“Yes, my dear. The
whole reason for this party is because of you.”

Susan chuckled. “And
celebrating your company’s win of the opera house project has
nothing at all to do with it?”