The gift line, gOODY gIRL, and the technology line, gIZMO gIRL, were in Melanie’s capable hands. Kinsey divided her time between gO gIRL and gROWL gIRL, the active-wear and party-wear divisions.
Sydney had been forced by time limitations and ever-increasing executive responsibilities to hand off the original gIRL-gEAR fashions to the firm’s junior associates, who did their best to keep up with consumer demand.
Thirty-eight months after graduation and two years into incorporation, the six founding partners had revised their five-year business plan for the second time. But even if the corporation’s fireworks fizzled next week, each of the women had a portfolio reflecting an investment in the future.
A good thing for all involved, but Macy didn’t dwell on what might or might not happen. The way she saw things, the future was…the future. Much too far away to think about when there was so much fun to be had now….
1
“I DON’T KNOW, Macy. You think we have enough food here?”
Macy Webb set a tub of tortilla chips and a trough of salsa next to the Crock-Pot of hot chile con queso plugged in on the kitchen bar. She added a festive tower of throwaway bowls in red, yellow, green and blue, and a stack of matching paper napkins. Eyeing the colorful layout, she smiled and, hands at black capri-covered hips, turned to answer Lauren.
“Well, there’s you and me, the other girls, and Anton, of course.” Lauren’s boyfriend was as much a permanent fixture on game night as the gIRL-gEAR partners, who helped Macy fine-tune the ideas for her column.
“And the guys? Who did you invite this time?”
“Ray, Jess, Doug and Eric.” Macy gave serious thought to the combined appetites of five in-the-prime-of-life, twenty-something men. “Hmm. Now that you mention it…”
She took in the long buffet table Lauren had pulled from the loft’s office space into the dining area and covered with a brightly fringed Mexican throw.
Pico de gallo. Chopped tomatoes. Shredded lettuce. Grated cheese. Chafing dishes with pinto beans ala charro and sautéed onions and peppers. A metal washtub of iced Corona longnecks, and fajitas on the grill. It looked like enough, but…
“Margaritas, maybe?” she asked.
Lauren rolled her eyes, shook her head. Healthy strands of sun-streaked blond hair brushed her shoulders. “I was being facetious. We’ll be eating leftovers for a week, at least.”
“Not a problem.” Macy pinched a tiny tomato square from the serving bowl, popped it into her mouth. “I can eat Tex-Mex morning, noon and night.”
“That’s because you have the metabolism of a man. I, on the other hand, have no metabolism, which means I have the hips of a woman.”
“Hips, ha! You and your perfect C-cup boobs. Don’t be giving me any of your metabolism crap.” Macy tugged on the hem of her hot-pink T-shirt, glanced down the scooped neckline in search of cleavage. “Oh. I know. You forgot the guacamole.”
Lauren stopped in the middle of setting out rows of plastic cutlery to lift a delicate brow. “Looking down your shirt makes you think of avocados?”
“If only. More like green grapes. Key limes, if I’m lucky.” Macy adjusted her shirt hem and went to clear a place on the table for the platters of meat. “I owe what bustline I do have to the push-up bras Kinsey stocks. Employee discount be damned. I’ve invested a fortune.”
“Are you sure you’re getting your money’s worth?” Lauren’s expression was the picture of fresh-faced innocence. “I don’t see any pushing up going on at the moment.”
Macy stuck out her tongue. “That’s because my pusher-uppers are all still wet. I’ve been busy with the party and didn’t get my laundry done until this afternoon.”
“That explains the funky-looking delicates hanging in my bathroom.” Lauren headed back to the kitchen.
“My bathroom’s open to the public. Yours is off the beaten path. I didn’t want just anyone fondling my things.” Of course, she might make an exception for the right man. The right man with the right hands and a kiss to knock her socks off.
“Then your things should be safe. No one but Anton has any reason to be in my room. And I’ll make sure the only thing delicate he fondles is me,” Lauren said, returning from the kitchen with her hands full of serving utensils.
“Thanks for rubbing it in. Now I only have you to worry about. You and the guacamole, which I see you have once again managed to forget.” Macy waited for an explanation more reasonable than the one she knew would be coming.
“It’s in the fridge.” Lauren gestured over her shoulder with a tilt of her chin. “Behind the fruit trifle.”
“And you left it there why?”
“I thought we just covered this? Metabolism? Hips?”
Macy considered smacking the grin from Lauren’s face. But that was best-friend rule number one. No smacking allowed.
She took the serving pieces Lauren offered. “So now I have to set the table, get the guacamole from the fridge and grab the chicken and shrimp off the barbie?”
“Cute. Aussie Tex-Mex.” Lauren reached for the platter and barbecue tongs. “I’ll get the meat. The guacamole might not make it to the table if left up to me.”
Grr. “Will you stop already with the food obsession? I’ve seen what you eat. If you ate any less I’d be worried.”
“If I ate any less, I’d be a saint. Which I’m not. And you can keep your unsaintly comeback to yourself.”
Macy bit back the unsaintly comeback on the tip of her tongue. “I was only going to say that I can’t believe you’d worry about calories on game night.”
Lauren stepped through the sliding glass doors and out onto the balcony. She tossed her reply back into the room. “Your game nights are beginning to scare me. It’s like you’re a walking, talking Cosmo poll. Where do you come up with these ideas?”
A walking, talking Cosmo poll? Macy chuckled, even while recognizing the analogy to be a fairly accurate description of the ease with which she created gIRL gAMES and gIRL gUIDE, the fun and advice columns she wrote for gIRL-gEAR’s Web site. Her job was child’s play. She liked it that way, and planned to get away with not working for a living as long as she possibly could.
Meeting Lauren between the table and the balcony door, Macy took the platter of chicken from her roommate’s hands. “Don’t ask me where the ideas come from. They just show up. I test them, work out the kinks, write the columns. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Well, I guess that’s all good, since yesterday Sydney mentioned your two columns are still generating the most feedback for the site.” Lauren headed back to the grill.
“Wow! How cool is that!” Macy left the chicken on the table and followed, wanting to hear more.
“Actually—” Lauren gestured with the tongs “—we talked about a new design for your Web pages. I think you need a logo. Maybe a caricature. Or a cartoon-type figure.”
“Hmm. Cartoon is good. A takeoff on my name? A cuddly spider, maybe? Big eyes and long lashes. None of that black widow, Barbie doll, comic-book cleavage.”
“Cuddly, huh? I’ll see what I can do.” Lauren plucked the last of the shrimp from the grill. “Oh, and I think Sydney wants you to write an ongoing serial, too. Where readers vote on ideas or submit suggestions for each installment? Anyway, I’m going to run a few design ideas by Anton later.”
“Wow, super.” Macy pasted on a broad smile. “Hey, what would I do without you and Sydney to take care of me?”
“That’s what best friends are