By six o’clock I was back in the East Village. Leila was gone, but she had left me a note. The Bergdorf Goodman buyer wanted to see some bags next week. Did I want her to bring them over to Bergdorf’s or did I want to do it?
Having Bergdorf’s willing to take a look was great. The news should have nudged me out of my bad mood, but didn’t. I was tired and still upset with myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to traipse uptown to a seven-million-dollar apartment and gawk at Geoffrey and Giles’s million-dollar interior design. They weren’t going to have any time for me, and I would end up making inane chitchat with people I wasn’t interested in.
Get over it, I told myself. That decorating job had just propelled Geoffrey and Giles into the big time. I couldn’t let them down.
The place was packed by the time I got there. In the foyer I swept a glass of wine off a tray and tried to make inroads into what I assumed was the living room. The crowd made it hard to tell which room was what or how Geoffrey and Giles had decorated the place. As I elbowed my way in search of my friends I spotted a suede banana-yellow sofa corner, under my feet a shiny strip of a deep-blue rug that looked Chinese. In the opening between two grey heads Andy Warhol’s Liz stared back at me. That same opening allowed me to spot Geoffrey’s ponytail. I was so happy to see him I waved at his back.
As soon as I reached him, he hugged me. ‘You look stunning, baby.’
‘Thanks.’ I’d dressed to get attention. Tight black satin pants tucked into stiletto-heeled suede boots and topped with a loose silk jersey top that draped in just the right places. In my hand I held a Desire velvet clutch with eye-catching green, purple and fuchsia stripes. Before walking in I had hopes of flashing the clutch and chatting up Desire, Inc. And maybe getting lucky. I was down on myself. I was horny. I needed a plaything. Anyone but Thorne.
‘Anyone interesting here?’ I asked after congratulating him.
He shrugged, blew a kiss at someone behind me. ‘I don’t know half these people. Sorry. Mrs Hendricks is waving at me. Have to talk to her. She just bought a duplex at 740 Park. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He aimed a kiss somewhere near my ear and pushed off.
I picked up a baked prune wrapped in bacon and weaved in and out of rooms. I noticed more decorating details, but still didn’t get a sense of the whole. Also noticed that gay men outnumbered heteros two to one. I kept looking for Giles, at the same time checking for prospects. During lulls in the rumble of conversations, I could hear snippets of classical guitar music. Soulful. Romantic. Given my low mood, I would have preferred Tina Turner belting ‘What’s Love Got to Do With It’.
Giles was nowhere to be seen. I made my way to a vast floor-to-ceiling window and stared at Central Park spread out below me. It was now too dark to see its autumn colours. I sipped my drink. My eyes followed the pattern of the streetlamps weaving through the trees. Across the park a string of lights coming from the Fifth Avenue apartments seemed to be inviting me over. Maybe Thorne lived in one of those apartments. I pressed my breasts against the glass and remembered his chest hard against mine.
‘Nice view,’ a man announced behind me.
Go away. No, don’t. I pushed myself away from the glass. ‘Yes, it is.’
He joined me. ‘Hi, I’m Eric.’
I did a half turn his way. ‘Nicole.’ He was a couple of inches taller than me in my stilettos. Good-looking in a shy, bookish way with a slack sexiness to him. He wore khaki pants, a blue and green plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up and a blue sweater draped over his shoulders. Wide blue eyes and blond-going-to-grey hair clipped short. Forty maybe. I looked down at his shoes. No tassles. Tassled shoes are a deal-breaker for me.
I smiled at him.
Eric clinked his glass on my now empty one. ‘I wasn’t talking about the view outside. You’re luscious.’
He wasn’t in the least bit shy. That was good. ‘Am I supposed to thank you?’
‘Don’t leave, that’s all. Or even better, come home with me.’
There it was, the hook-up. What I’d been hoping for. An easy lay to calm me down, get the horniness Thorne had ignited out of my system. Why wasn’t I jumping at the chance?
I twirled non-existent wine in my glass, trying to picture me and this man naked, eating each other. What came up was Thorne, fully clothed in his blue suit and yellow tie, his voice in my ear asking, ‘Are we playing games?’
I looked up. Eric was eating me with his eyes. I felt nothing. ‘I’m sorry. I’m meeting someone.’
He leaned over, kissed my cheek and said, ‘Lucky man.’
I watched his retreating back with regret. Archer Thorne. I was stuck on him. Up to my neck stuck. I was helpless with desire. For him. No one else. There was only one way to put a stop to that.
The minute I hit the street I took out my cell.
‘Why didn’t you say anything when I answered the phone?’ Thorne asked. We were sitting at a cosy corner table at the Church Bar of the Tribeca Grand. He lived a few blocks away. I liked the idea that his bed was so close, also liked not being in it just yet. Having to wait jacked up the excitement. In the cab coming down to meet him, I convinced myself I was in total control. We were going to have crazy hot sex. I was going to say no to staying the night. I’d shower, get dressed, blow him a kiss at the door and walk away, forever free of him.
‘How did you know it was me on the phone?’ I leaned in closer. He was wearing a gold-coloured V-necked sweater, no shirt. A few dark chest hairs peeked from the bottom of the V, making me want to slip my hand inside to feel his skin.
‘I recognised the sound of your breath.’
‘Sure you did. I was panting for you.’
‘OK, I didn’t. I had a hunch. I was thinking of you when the phone rang.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘How about caller ID? Plausible enough for you?’
‘Hmhm.’ The candle on the table lit up the lower part of his face. He hadn’t shaved for me. That roughness on my breasts, my stomach, between my legs was going to make me wild.
‘I had my secretary look up the number.’
‘You didn’t call back.’
‘I thought you were playing cat and mouse. I’m no mouse.’
‘You’re the big bad tiger, aren’t you?’
‘Not bad.’ He leaned close. Candlelight and the colour of his sweater made his eyes golden. Feral. ‘Cuddly and playful.’
A shiver ran between my thighs. ‘Archer Thorne a sweet stuffed toy?’
Thorne grinned. His lips were wet from his drink. I wanted to lick that whisky wetness right off, wet him with my lips.
Get a grip, Nicole. I finished my Cosmo and gestured to the waiter to bring me another one. I’d already slipped the bartender my credit card. Something I was sure Thorne wasn’t going to like one bit. ‘I don’t play games, Thorne. Olivia said you are some big muckity-muck and big muckity-mucks don’t answer their own office phones. I expected to get your receptionist. Hearing your voice right away threw me, that’s all.’
‘Why the office number? You had my cell number.’
I hunched my shoulders. ‘I threw your note away.’ My jersey fell off one shoulder, which only got me a passing glance. I wondered what look I’d get if I shimmied out of my top right there. I’d taken my bra off in the cab.
‘I always answer the phone when I can. I got to where I am now by always being available and never thinking I was better than anyone else.’
‘Always available? Your women friends must like that.’
He lifted a