When dinner ends, capped with loads of selfies that Chip sends to his family and his bride, Troy pulls me aside.
“I need to take off. I have a . . . thing.”
“Good luck with the thing. See you tomorrow at the ceremony.”
After I say good night to Chip and head out into the Manhattan evening, it occurs to me that all of these guys, this random collection of men, are heading home to their various ladies. Chip to his soon-to-be bride, Sully to Jana (and his sneakers), and Troy to his woman, Irene. Well, after he shakes it all night long.
As for me, I wander downtown, happily single, loving the night breeze and enjoying my solitude.
Though what is Truly up to right now, on a Friday night in the summer? Is she out with friends too? At home? Or behind the bar at Gin Joint?
A tug pulls me toward Chelsea, telling me to casually pop into her bar. Chat with her. Flirt with her.
Steal a moment alone with her and kiss her so damn senseless she melts completely in my arms.
I blink the far-too-tempting thoughts away. Another kiss would be dangerous. It could make the next few gigs with her rockier than they need to be. Not to mention the potential strain it would put on my friendship with her brother.
I clench my fists, holding tight to those thoughts as I head home instead. No need to catch a few extra moments with a woman I’m not involved with, not seeing, and not going home to.
My phone bleats.
It’s Nora.
“Hallo, German spy,” I say.
“Guten Abend. I’m calling because I want to go out on a high note, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
20
The next morning, Nora spins her replacement around to face the mirror hanging on Truly’s bedroom door, presenting her like she’s in a pageant. Granted, Truly looks stunning in the simple blue dress I sent to her.
“You look amazing.” Nora sings the last word. “Now, have you thought about what name you’re going to use?”
Nora’s here because . . . well, she insisted. She leaves tonight for Chicago, and she wanted to send us out on a high note, she told me when she rang last night. She also wanted to ride in style to the airport, and I can’t blame her. Chip is sending a swank limo for me, and I’m taking off soon and will drop Nora off at the airport on the way to the photo shoot. Truly will join me later.
“She’s Julie. That’s the name I told Chip,” I say from my spot on Truly’s couch.
Nora shoots death rays at me with her hazel eyes. “She can’t be a Julie. Why did you give her that name?”
“Why can’t she be a Julie?”
“Julie’s pretty easy for me not to fuck up,” Truly says dryly. “I have to agree with Jason on this one.”
Nora grabs Truly’s shoulders. “Because this is your opportunity. This is your chance. You could have been Ramona, a naughty librarian who wears fishnet stockings under her pencil skirts. You could have been Svetlana, a Russian orphan finally finding her way in America. Or, even better, Francesca, the Brazilian heir to an oil conglomerate, who escaped from . . . a cartel. Personally, I liked to use names like Zosa and Marta.”
It’s a wonder no one saw through the ruse. But then again, Nora can act. She’s not always over-the-top. Just with friends.
“But then I’d have to do an accent, wouldn’t I?” Truly reminds us. “I’m not really an accent person. Though I can do a good Midwestern one. And then when Damien Grey the Third bent me over the piano, he spanked me and slid inside me, and it felt oh so good.”
My jaw disengages from my skull and falls to the floor. Even in her Midwestern good-girl accent, she sounds fucking hot. “Yes, just do that all night.”
Nora laughs. “It’s very convincing. Maybe for the next one?” Nora’s hope is like an extra exuberant person in the room. “Or maybe you could be a delightful Southern belle. Perhaps you could be Abigail Anna from Savannah.”
“Why would I want to draw more attention to myself? I’m only there as a shield for him.” Truly flaps her arm at me.
“You’re both a shield and a lubricant,” Nora says, amused. “It’s what my agent says. Use me as your shield or your lubricant.”
I raise a hand. “If you’re choosing, I’d really like to be the lube.”
“Darling,” Truly says, trying on Southern Belle after all, “I’m the lube. Try to remember.”
Nora claps. “See? It’s so much more fun.”
Truly twirls her hair and smacks her lips, as if she’s chewing gum. “Like, I don’t know. I totally don’t know if it’s more fun. Does it, like, feel more fun to you?”
I crack up at her ditz routine. “Look at all your hidden talents.”
Truly takes a bow then says in her own voice, “Listen, I’m only going as Jason’s date. I don’t need to do a whole song and dance.”
Nora scoffs for a full minute. “Oh no, no, no, no. He’s not Jason tonight. You can’t call him by his real name.”
“Right, I nearly forgot.” Truly meets my gaze. “What am I calling you? Can you be Cornelius?”
I wiggle an eyebrow. “Depends when you want to call me that.”
Nora fluffs Truly’s hair and offers more names. “How about Mortimer? Or better yet, Wilbur? Hold on. Let me grab a comb.” She scurries to the other side of the room where she left her purse.
Truly walks closer to me, a smile tugging at her lips. “Can I call you Wilbur tonight?”
