Duping Cupid (A Valentine's Day Short Story) Page 4

  “Well, great. That’s...great.” Her flat tone spoke volumes to him, and clearly communicated “great” was light years from her true opinion. “Oh, by the way. I need a copy of her contract.”

  Straight back to business. Because she couldn’t bear to think of him with another woman and didn’t want to pursue that topic in depth? He hoped Ava was right. “Sarah has it. I faxed a copy over to her the other day.” And she ought to be thrilled with what he’d managed to negotiate out of the tight-fisted wretch. God knew, he was earning every penny.

  “Okay, great. I’ll check it out when I get back to the office. What’s on schedule for you for the rest of the week?”

  “A bunch of parties with Ava. Should be a lot of fun.” As fun as a root canal, but he kept that idea to himself. The point was to get Vivi to realize they belonged together—even if he had to pretend to be happy with someone else to achieve his goal. But jeez, he was spreading the lies on thick. “How about you?”

  “The usual. I’ll spend the rest of tonight eating my spleen over my mother’s commentary, and the rest of the weekend drowning my sorrows in chocolate and spending too much money on Christmas gifts to make myself feel better.”

  His fault. Without him to shield her from the pain of her family’s disappointment, she planned to self-destruct with excess. Not a damn thing he could do to stop her, either. Even if he wanted to go to her place and console her, his contract with Ava forbade it. Now that the press had picked up on the new “romance” between him and Ava, he couldn’t be seen with Vivi or any other woman until March when Ava would set him free to pursue his real love.

  Vivi’s loud yawn shook him out of his thoughts. “I should get some sleep,” she murmured.

  “Uh-huh.” What else could he say? This whole situation sucked rocks, and he couldn’t change it for four more months. If Vivi could wait that long.

  “Keep me posted on what’s going on with you two, okay?” she said, her depression evident in her low monotone. “Not that I don’t trust you, but...”

  He knew. She didn’t trust Ava. Neither did he.

  ****

  The photos hit the Wharton Gossipmonger, an online news site, on Black Friday. Early that morning, Vivi, still in her flannel pajamas, sat at her kitchen table, laptop in front of her and a cup of black coffee to perk her up after a sleepless night. Between her mother’s admonitions and her late-night conversation with Bass, she had plenty on her mind to fend off pleasant dreams. Nightmares about attending Bass’s wedding to Ava with her mother as her date reigned supreme. She shuddered and sipped the coffee to ward off another round of chills.

  In the left margin of the Gossipmonger’s website, a headline caught her eye: Ava Featherstone Declares Her Independence. She clicked on the link, telling herself she only did so because her business was on the line. Above a slideshow of photographs, a blurb about the Thanksgiving fundraiser claimed Ava had looked “stunning” in a floral sheath dress, but attributed her very special glow to the man on her arm.

  It looks like the honeymoon is over between former model Ava Featherstone and financier hubby, Cecil Bannerman. While Cecil has been spotted stepping out with a young blonde rumored to be his former executive assistant, Ava clearly has her hands full with the still-dishy Sebastian Lawrence of Our Small Town fame. Take a look at what our photographer witnessed at last night’s fundraiser for Feed the Hungry at the Van Orton Art Gallery.

  Vivi couldn’t stop herself. She clicked the right arrow, and the first photo came into focus, a beaming couple on the steps of some artsy-fartsy place in midtown. Bass looked amazing in a dark blue pinstriped suit, shoulders broad and waist narrow. His crisp white dress shirt, opened at the collar, lent the formal attire a carefree attitude, so indicative of the Bass she knew. His expression, on the other hand, threw her. His chin nuzzled Ava’s neck, one hand wrapping her waist so that she snuggled into his side, and his face wore a look of smug bliss—as if he’d discovered heaven.

  An act? Or was she staring at a man falling in love? She couldn’t tell. Bass was a helluva an actor and could flip on the stage mask with the speed of an eye blink. What else did the photogs capture? When she clicked the arrow again, the next photo showed Bass and Ava in a passionate lip lock. Ugh. Squeezing her eyes shut against the image, she pushed away from the table in disgust.

  How could he kiss that skeleton in designer couture? What could he possibly see in her to love?

  Vivi wanted to slap herself. Bass was her best friend. If he’d found love, she should be happy for him. She knew his secrets, knew about his disastrous marriage, his ugly childhood.

  Did Ava? Did Ava realize how lucky she was to win Bass’s heart? A heart full of humor and generosity and loyalty? Somehow, she doubted a woman like Ava appreciated those qualities. She’d probably care more about his bank account and how he looked standing next to her in photos. In fact, Vivi would bet every dollar she owned that the minute Bass got a little paunch, the former model would kick him to the curb.

  Dammit, he deserved better! He deserved someone who’d love him always: in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, and all the extremes in between.

  Tunneling her fingers through her hair, Vivi paced from her kitchen to living room and back again. She had to stop obsessing over Bass and Ava. She had to get out of this apartment, find a way to get the images of them as a couple out of her head.

  Only one thing to do. She’d head to the gym, do some cardio, sweat out the bad humor.

  Then, maybe she’d battle the crowds at Macy’s for Christmas gifts. Her shopping list had just expanded by one, thanks to Russ’s surprise yesterday, so she might as well get a jumpstart on the special sales. Would she have to add another female to the list before the holiday arrived?

  No. Don’t go there. Forget about Ava and Bass for now.

  Focus on family. What to get the southern belle? She snorted. Like it mattered. Scarlet already got the diamond, and Russ won their parents’ approval. Any additional gift was superfluous.

  Screw it. She’d come up with something. For everyone. Mind made up, she shed the pajamas for jeans and a sweater, packed her gym bag, and headed out the door.

  Four hours later, cleansed in mind and body, she decided to stop by the office and get hold of Ava’s contract. She was obsessing, and she knew it. She just couldn’t help herself.

  Rifling through the file cabinet, she found the one marked Bannerman in Sarah’s precise print and pulled out the manila folder. She took her seat behind the desk and flipped to the faxed copy of the contract.

  Ohmigod. The number leaped out at her as if underscored in neon. How on earth had he managed to get her to agree to pay that much? And what exactly had he promised in return?

  Chapter 4

  As November faded into December, Vivi strived to keep busy without Bass’s usual presence in her life. The new lovebirds, nicknamed SebAva by the local gossip columnists, splashed headlines in The New York Post’s Page Six, and of course, the Wharton Gossipmonger. To the rest of the world, they probably registered a moment’s curiosity and faded into oblivion again. Not so for Vivi, who set up a Google Alert on her phone and still typed Bass’s name in her search engine a dozen times a day to see the latest photos and read about the most recent sightings of SebAva. Obsessive, yes, but stalking seemed to be the only way she could discover details about SebAva’s budding romance. After Thanksgiving, phone calls between her and Bass went from once every few days to once every full moon.

  With the weather growing colder, Vivi found it harder and harder to leave her warm apartment for anything besides work. Two weeks before Christmas, she bought herself a gift to help ease her loneliness: a Maltese puppy she named Beowulf. He turned out to be the perfect companion. Daily walk requirements made her get out of her apartment several times a day, no matter how low the temperature or how much precipitation fell. At night, she and Beowulf would snuggle on the couch and watch television together, with the pup never complaining about her choice of sh
ow or movie. A first for any male she’d known.

  On Christmas Eve, she gave Sarah the day off. Cupid To Go dates were all set and in play, so there was nothing to do. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Story of her life these days.

  At three in the afternoon, just as she packed up to return to Beowulf and their happy holiday festivities—she’d bought and stuffed a stocking full of doggie toys for the pooch’s first Christmas—her cellphone rang. Bass’s name flashed on her screen, and she forced herself to let it ring three times before, after a deep inhale and exhale, she answered. “Hey. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Vivi.” His voice was hushed, strained. Was he calling her out of obligation? Was Ava with him? In another room? “How are you?”

  “Busy,” she replied with forced cheerfulness. “I...um...I have a gift for you. Should I just mail it to your office?”

  Silence met her offer, and she held her breath.

  Finally, he said, “You better not. I can’t even trust my own staff anymore. Anyone’s willing to speak to the press for the right price.”

  “Oh.”

  Disappointment crushed her. She’d lost him. The Bass she knew always became an overgrown boy at Christmas—especially when presents were on the line. In years past, she’d had to hide the gifts she bought him at Sarah’s place to keep him from snooping before the big day. Every Christmas Eve, he could barely wait until midnight to hit the stocking she’d stuffed with small treats for him.

  She understood that part of him, realized his childhood with an alcoholic mother and no father had stolen the magic of Christmas from him. He had grown up with no traditions: no Christmas tree—though, one year, his mother had decorated their kitchen cabinets with garland—an event he still recalled as one of his favorite childhood holidays. There’d never been a grand meal, a boatload of presents, or anything frivolous. More than twenty years after he’d left the trailer park in rural Pennsylvania and headed west to try his luck on the stage, Christmas, for Bass, was still a childlike wonder. And she traditionally spent weeks planning dozens of special surprises for him. Until this year. Until Ava stole him from her.

  “What are your plans tonight?” His question shook her out of her thoughts and back into their conversation.

  “The usual. Hanging out at home,” she replied. “I’m supposed to go to Mom’s tomorrow, but I might bow out.”

  “And spend the holiday by yourself?”

  “No, I have a...friend staying with me these days.” A four-legged friend, but Bass didn’t need to know that. She wouldn’t allow him to feel sorry for her.

  “Really? Anyone I know?”

  She feigned a laugh. “Definitely not. He and I only met two weeks ago.”

  “He? And he’s already living with you?” Outrage increased his volume. “Who is this guy?”

  Did she detect a tinge of jealousy in his rapid-fire questions? Yes! At last, she might have the upper hand with him. “What can I say? It was love at first sight.”

  “That’s crazy, Vivi. How much do you know about him? Where’d you meet him? What does he do for a living? And why is he living with you?”

  “He’s a...” She thought fast. “...a personal trainer.” True. Beowulf made her exercise at least four times a day. “He’s very motivating. And very sweet. Trust me, he’s not dangerous.”

  “You know this after a week or two? How? Did you have him checked out? Or did you just Google him?”

  “Relax. I checked him out thoroughly and have a full file on him.” Immunization record, neutering certificate, AKC papers.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He sighed, a loud whoosh of frustrated air. “You worry me, Vivi. You’ve got too big a heart, and people tend to take advantage of that quality in you.”

  You mean, people like you? The thought popped into her mind, but she didn’t say it aloud. “I don’t know if I should be touched or insulted.”

  “I don’t care how you take it.” He didn’t elaborate on that comment, and for a minute, Vivi wondered if he expected her to argue. She remained mute, and at last, he added, “I think I should meet this guy.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will. Someday. He’s around for the long haul.” Yes, she definitely sensed some underlying jealousy in his demand. “Who knows? Maybe we can double date one night. You and Ava, and me and...Wulf.”

  “Wulf? His name is Wulf?”

  For heaven’s sake, someone should staple her mouth shut. She couldn’t quit while she was ahead. Oh, no. She had to plow on into the ridiculous. “Mmm-hmm.” Fine. Let him call her bluff. His name is Wulf. Run with it. “He’s not originally from here.”

  “I bet. If he’s so fabulous, though, why don’t you want to bring him to your mother’s house? I would think, after Russ’s bombshell at Thanksgiving, your Wulf character would get you back into your mother’s good graces.”

  Yeah, right. Good point. Quick. Come up with an excuse. “I guess I’m just not ready to share him with anyone else yet,” she replied with a flippant air. Now back out of this conversation before you screw up again. “Listen, Bass, I have to go. I’ve got some last minute shopping to do.”

  “Hey, Vivi?” he called out before she could hang up.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Does Wulf have a stocking?”

  The question touched her heart. Somewhere, deep inside that happy-go-lucky armor he’d donned for Ava and the press, the little boy she loved remained.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “He does. Merry Christmas, Bass.” Before her heart could crack, she punched the disconnect button.

  ****

  Bass set his phone on the dresser and glared at the keypad.

  Wulf. He’d lost Vivi to some clown named Wulf. A personal trainer, no less. A musclehead. All he could picture was that old Saturday Night Live skit with Hans and Franz. Just what she didn’t need: a Neanderthal with more brawn than brains.

  His fingers tore at his tie as he tried to knot it into submission beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Wulf. Of all the stupid names. What on earth possessed Vivi to get involved with some guy she’d known less than a month?

  He never should have left her to her own devices over the last few weeks. In hindsight, Ava’s advice to dupe Cupid by making her jealous had backfired big time. He’d bluffed, she’d called, and they’d both lost in this poker game. Only Ava, the crooked dealer, seemed to get what she wanted. Would continue to get what she wanted for the next two months. And that was his fault for stepping in on that fateful Monday afternoon for a lark.

  Yanking off the tie and tossing it on his bed, he left his apartment for Ava’s Christmas Eve get-together. As the “host” for the event, he had to be there before the first guest.

  He hailed a cab, gave the driver Ava’s address, and settled back against the car seat, gaze staring blankly out the window. Snowflakes swirled—not enough to bring a white Christmas to New York City, but enough to put everyone in a holiday mood. Everyone but him.

  Vivi’s hesitant voice echoed in his conscience. I...um...have a gift for you.

  He had one for her, too. A perfect emerald-cut diamond ring in a platinum setting.

  Fat lot of good it did, sitting in his bureau drawer. The timing was all wrong for an engagement ring, but the purchase soothed him, made him feel he was actually making progress in romancing her. Not that he could risk meeting her or sending anything to her. Hell, he couldn’t be seen talking to her.

  Even now, a reporter sat in a car three or four lengths back, waiting to see where he’d go, what he’d do. He hadn’t experienced this kind of media coverage since the heyday of Our Small Town. He hated it then and detested it now.

  Yet, then and now, he’d always found a way to make the paparazzi work to his advantage. Yesterday, he’d strolled into Tiffany’s to shop for Vivi’s gift. He’d chosen the perfect ring and, after paying the clerk, he stepped out onto the Fifth Avenue sidewalk. Within seconds, two uncharacteristic characters shuffled past him into the store. He knew they weren’t really customer
s and he had a pretty good idea why they’d shoved inside. They thought the gift was for Ava. Let them. He didn’t care. The staff inside wouldn’t confirm or deny the purchase, no matter how much they pestered or what amount of money they offered.

  Now, if only he could give the ring to Vivi. But no, he had to wait until March—and risk the possibility that she’d turn him down for some clown named Wulf. While he wasted time with It’s-All-About-Me-Ava and her round of society parties, fundraisers, and opportunities to be “seen.”

  What he really wanted was a quiet holiday, the kind he and Vivi always shared. The kind she’d now share with some other guy...right down to the Christmas stocking, his favorite part.

  Vivi had a talent for finding gifts that were uniquely personal and well thought out. Last year, she’d scored un-gettable tickets to a sold-out show and tucked them into the toe of his stocking, then filled the rest with loose popcorn and Sno-Caps, his favorite snacks. He wondered what she’d put in Wulf’s stocking this year. If she were smart, she’d give the guy an eviction notice.

  Wulf. Jeez. He could just picture this loser. Even eight years later, he remembered his first glimpse of Julian Bruno. Easy enough to paste Julian’s head on a bulky body and come up with a reasonable facsimile of Wulf.

  The cab pulled up outside Ava’s apartment building, and he peeled off a few bills to pay the fare before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  The uniformed doorman greeted him with a tip of his hat. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lawrence. Merry Christmas.”

  His mind still focused on Vivi, he muttered a quick, “Merry Christmas, Reggie,” and strode inside the building. He took the elevator up to Ava’s floor and waited for her to open the door.

  When she did, her formal smile of greeting flipped to a frown. “What’s wrong? And where’s your tie?”

  “Screw the tie. She’s got a guy living with her.”