There's Cake in My Future (6 page)

Then she sees me. And she’s pissed. Fred gently takes her hand, and the two of them talk. Eventually, Bar looks at me inquisitively, kisses Fred good-bye on the cheek, then leaves the restaurant.

Once she is out of my sight, Fred walks back up to our table, and takes his seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce you. She was just leaving. Where were we?”

I stare at him. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

Honestly, I don’t know why I said that. The words came tumbling out of my mouth before I could think about them.

But suddenly I can’t breathe. It’s as though my entire body instinctively knows what’s happening, and my brain is struggling to catch up.

“What?” Fred says, unconsciously looking around the room for a moment. “Why would you say that?”

I take a deep breath, throw down my cloth napkin, and look him dead in the eye. “Fred, do you want to get married or not?”

“Wow,” Fred says, clearly stunned by my outburst. “Because I’m not ready to get married, somehow I’m now cheating on you?”

I’m about to answer him with, “Yes. Why else would a man wait six years, unless it’s to sample what else is out there?”

But before I can say anything, from the corner of my eye I watch a tidal wave of red wine fly past me and hit Fred dead in the face.

I turn to see Bar, the beautiful blonde, with an empty glass in her hand. “Knulla dig! Farväll lögnare!” she spits out angrily at Fred, then turns on her heel and marches away.

I’m stunned. My jaw drops. I want to get up from the table, but my legs are frozen.

Fred begins calmly wiping his face clean. “I guess she didn’t like the settlement I got for her.”

Five

Seema

“So you’re saying this means I’m about to find my true love?” Scott asks me as he plays with his new charm and smiles so wide that I can’t tell if he’s fucking with me or genuinely thrilled to hear such news.

“I’m saying
Nicole
thinks it does,” I clarify. “I know it’s completely bogus, but you should have seen how she flipped out when—”

“How do you know?” Scott interrupts.

“How do I know what?”

“How do you know it’s completely bogus? What scientific proof do you have?”

My shoulders drop. “Stop that.”

Scott smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “You just said her friend Ginger just got engaged. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

I make a point of sighing loudly and rolling my eyes. “There were twenty-three girls at the party today who pulled charms. One of them pulled a charm that coincided with her future. Twenty-two others—twenty-three, if you include your heart—did not. Mel isn’t suddenly going to have a wild sex life with her boyfriend of six years, Nic won’t get pregnant if she doesn’t want to, I’m not going to work any harder at my job than I already have to, and you’re not falling in love anytime soon.”

Scott looks me in the eye and seems to genuinely ask me, “How do you know?”

I cross my arms, irked. “How do I know … which one?”

He shrugs and smiles. “Pick one. Any one. How do you know I won’t be the next person to fall in love?”

It’s at that point that I realize—maybe he’s already fallen in love with the girl he just started seeing two weeks ago.

Damn it. Why didn’t I break up with Conrad sooner? Better yet, why didn’t I make my move on Scott sooner? I had almost a fucking year, and I blew it. I should have just kissed him that first night and gotten it all out in the open. Either he would have been interested—in which case I wouldn’t be in this Hell (not even Hell—limbo. At least in Hell, you know who your enemies are), or he wouldn’t have been interested, in which case I could have had him as a coffee friend but never allowed myself to fall for him.

I look at his beautiful face. He’s smiling, and his sparkling eyes seem to be dancing. His lips are pink and plump and sexy, and I desperately want to kiss him. I do. I ache for it. Even though I know it’s no good for me, I will dream about it a hundred times tonight before I go to sleep. I’ll fantasize about the perfect place, the perfect time, how he’ll kiss me back, and how my life will be changed forever.

But this isn’t the perfect time or place. There never has been a perfect time or place, and now that he’s dating someone new, there probably never will be.

Scott jokingly wags his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx in an old black-and-white film. My eyes narrow, and I eye him suspiciously. “You are totally fucking with me, aren’t you?”

Scott laughs. “Of course I’m fucking with you.” He lifts up his silver heart to inspect it in the light. “I’m constantly amazed that women, particularly intelligent women, believe this crap. When was the last time you heard of a guy reading his horoscope or having his tarot cards read?” He slips the heart into his pocket. “I do want to keep this, though. I have a piece I’m working on that I want to put it in.”

I smirk “Please don’t tell me you’re calling the piece, ‘Crap Women Believe In.’ ”

Scott laughs. “THAT would be an awesome piece! I could totally get some bachelor to buy that!” He pulls a small notebook from his pocket, and a black ink pen. “The battle of the sexes always fascinates me,” he says, as he begins sketching his new project. “I could do it all in powder-pink and white, like a wedding…” I watch him as he quickly (and flawlessly) sketches a three-layer wedding cake as the centerpiece, then surrounds it on all sides with a series of shelves. “For the top shelf, I’d intersperse diet books like
The Zone
and
Ten Days to Skinny
with self-help relationship books like
Think Like a Lady, Act Like a Man
and
He’s Just Not That Into You
.”

“It’s
Think Like a Man, Act Like a Lady,
” I correct him.

Scott looks up to give me a pitying look. “You disappoint me, Singh.”

“I didn’t say I bought it, I just know the title. Knowledge is power. And I actually think I like that
Ten Days
diet book. I was leafing through it at the bookstore—it had some interesting ideas.”

Scott continues to draw ferociously, a man possessed. “No woman needs a diet book. Every woman I know knows enough on the subject to write a diet book herself. And it would be a short book, too. Page one: walk every day. Page two: if you’re wicked serious, go to a gym three times a week and lift a few weights. Page three: quit eating all that crap. Whether your crap is Zingers every time life throws you a curveball, Twinkies hidden in your desk drawer, or eating a two-thousand-calorie ‘salad’ loaded with dressing and meat, knock it off!” He turns the notebook around for me to scrutinize his work. “What else do I need?”

I look at the drawing and decide to betray my own sex in the name of flirting. “A Christian Louboutin shoe.”

“Which a woman believes will help her catch a man. Perfect!” he says, drawing an insanely high heel.

“Plus a DVD of
Sex and the City,
an eyelash curler, maybe a deck of tarot cards…”

“You are on fire, girl!” Scott says happily, taking a quick sip of champagne, then going back to his sketch.

My home phone rings. “Hey, can you do one of these about men?” I ask as I head to the phone.

“No,” Scott answers me firmly.

“What? Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to put in the display.”

“Under ‘Crap Men Believe’?” I exclaim. “You’re kidding, right? How about a Knicks jersey, a letter from
Penthouse,
a porn DVD, and an old pizza box.”

“Hey—the Knicks have a shot this year. And a porn DVD is clichéd.”

“No more clichéd than a diet book,” I insist as I sip my champagne. “Oh! And for the center of the piece: a pillowtop mattress thrown onto the middle of the floor, with no box spring or headboard in sight.”

Scott laughs at my joke as my phone continues to ring. I look at the caller ID. It’s Mel. Damn it. She knows I’m seeing Scott tonight.

I pick up. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I’m getting the ring or the chili pepper fortune.” Mel says, and she sounds like she’s been crying. “Do you think there’s a toilet charm? Because that is where my life seems to be headed at the moment.”

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“No,” she says quietly. “If I were all right, I’d be in a romantic restaurant right now planning a trip to Bora Bora with Fred, dreaming of his proposal to me while we’re there, and being completely oblivious to where my life was headed. Instead, I am stunned, ready to throw up, and parked in front of your house.”

I’m confused. “Wait,” I say, walking to my front window, and pushing back my curtains to see her bright blue Prius parked out front. “You’re outside? Why aren’t you coming in?”

“Because Scott’s car is parked in your driveway, and I don’t want to bother you,” Mel reasons. “But I don’t know where else to go. Fred’s cheating on me.”

Six

Melissa

Seema and Scott run out to get me and bring me inside.

I quickly catch them up on the last hour of my life and have just finished the part about some strange Swedish woman throwing a drink in Fred’s face.

I then fill them in on what happened next: Fred wasn’t stupid. I saw a woman throw a drink in his face—he wasn’t going to get off without a full-blown explanation.

Svetlana, that’s her name—as if I could ever compete with a Svetlana—had been a client of Fred’s for three months. She was the trophy wife of a seventy-eight-year-old studio head who she caught getting head one night from an even younger woman than herself. Fred was her divorce attorney.

I had actually heard about her. Her husband had forced the final arbitration to be in Manhattan—so Fred was stuck there for a week and a half while both sides hammered out whether a five-year marriage to a decrepit guy was worth one hundred million dollars or one hundred and fifty million.

I remember Fred asked me to go with him to New York, but my high school was in the middle of state testing, and I didn’t want to leave my students.

I guess I should have.

I sit on Seema’s couch, numb, as I continue my story. “Fred told me, in a moment of tearful confession, that the night the case was settled, he took her out for drinks at the Oak Room. They had too much wine, he walked her back to her suite, she kissed him, and they made out for a few minutes.”

“Oh, good Lord…” Scott mutters under his breath.

“She’s not done with her story yet,” Seema tells him.

“Yeah, but obviously…”

“Scott…” Seema says warningly.

“Fine,” Scott says to Seema, crossing his arms. Then he turns to me. “But you do know he’s lying about that, right?”

I take a deep breath before I answer, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Finish your story,” Seema tells me sympathetically.

“Yes, you do!” Scott insists to me. “They did NOT just make out for a few minutes. You
do
know that, right?”

I look over at Scott, surprised at his vehemence. I shrug. “He says that’s all that happened.”

“Oh please. What’s he going to say? ‘I fucked someone in a hotel room three thousand miles away. I never thought I’d get caught. Oops.’ ”

His statement makes me burst into tears. Now I’m sad
and
embarrassed. Seema gives me a hug. I can’t breathe. I’m feeling sick, my nose is clogged, and my life is over.

I take a Kleenex from a box Scott brought into the living room, wipe my eyes, and gauge Seema’s and Scott’s reactions.

Seema’s eyes are wet as well, she is so shocked and saddened to hear my news. She looks almost as heartbroken as I feel.

Scott, on the other hand, looks angry. And the longer he listens, the angrier he gets.

I take a deep breath, and end my story. “Honestly, I don’t know what the truth is,” I tell them. “Fred’s called me at least seven times on my cell, and left texts. I haven’t picked up, because I don’t know what to say to him. I’m not ready to go home yet. I’m not even sure if I have a home to go to anymore.” I tear up again, but don’t cry. “I just have no idea what to think or what to do.”

“He’s a chode,” Scott states matter-of-factly. “You’re better off without him.”

I stare at him blankly. Seema glares at him. “Don’t say things like that!” she chastises Scott.

“Why?” Scott rebuts. “The guy’s not only cheating on her, but he’s lying about it with some insipid, ‘Strange girl only stuck her tongue in my mouth for a couple of minutes’ lie! He’s a total chode!”

“Because you don’t say things like that to someone who doesn’t even know they’re broken up yet,” Seema admonishes.

“What? You’re going to tell her to forgive the chode and marry him?” Scott argues.

“Of course I’m not going to tell her to marry the chode,” Seema counters. “But there’s a time for venting and a time for constructive advice. Check your watch.”

“Excuse me,” I say quietly. “What’s a chode?”

“Chode,” Scott repeats. “He’s a dick, a knob, a prick—”

“Thank you for the anatomy lesson,” Seema interrupts, cutting him off.

“He’s also an asshole,” Scott can’t help but add.

Seema throws down her hand on her coffee table as she asks firmly. “Will you stop that?”

Scott ignores her. Asks me with complete sincerity, “Do you want me to go beat the crap out of him? Because I am so there.”

Seema tries a different approach. “Scott, can you go get us some drinks please?”

“She hasn’t answered my question.”

“She doesn’t want you to beat him up,” Seema insists. “How is landing yourself in jail going to help her?”

“Actually, I would kind of like him to beat Fred up,” I admit to Seema.

She looks mildly horrified.

“I didn’t say I was actually going to have Scott do it,” I tell Seema. “I know that would be wrong.” Then I turn to Scott. “That is so sweet of you to offer, though.”

Scott looks a bit disappointed.

Seema takes my hand gently. “What
do
you want?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” I tell her. “I want to find a way to get past this. I want it to have never happened.”

Seema doesn’t say anything—just nods her head knowingly. She gets what I’m saying. She pulls me into a hug, and we just sit there in silence.