Complications Read online

  “Got any nibbles for this one?”

  “I pitched it to The New Yorker, but they weren’t interested. I’ll query the Atlantic or Harper’s next.”

  “Good luck. You’re braver than I am, trying to freelance in this economy.”

  “Not like I’ve got much choice.” Ally sighed. “Besides, it could be worse. If you hadn’t offered me your couch, I would’ve had to move back in with my dad.”

  “You’d do the same for me.” They fell silent while Holly nibbled at her toast, then got up to put her dishes in the sink. “I’ll be a little late getting home tonight. I need to stop to pick up some groceries and my dry cleaning.”

  “I could take care of that for you, if you want.”

  “You sure?”

  Ally shot her a mock-exasperated look. “You’re letting me crash here rent-free. Running a few errands is the least I can do.”

  After Holly left for work, Ally brought her laptop into the kitchen, poured herself another cuppa joe and launched back into research for her article on rising oil prices and their impact on the global economy. Around noon she caught a whiff of her aromatic armpits and decided to jump into the shower, then went out to run Holly’s errands.

  It was a pleasant early-autumn day, blue-skied and sunny with a hint of crispness in the air. Ally strolled along, guilt needling her for wasting time she should’ve been spending on her article, but being out and about was too delightful a treat to rush through. She was used to being cooped up in stuffy office buildings all day; even now, without a nine-to-five job, she still clung fast to that old nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. Still, she spared a few minutes to browse in the little mom-and-pop market on the corner, then headed for the dry cleaner a couple of blocks down on the opposite side of the street.

  She walked back to the apartment with a bag of groceries under each arm and Holly’s cleaning slung over her shoulder, humming an off-key tune that trailed off when she spied a black stretch limo parked at the curb. Then Eric poured out of the backseat, flashing a grin, and she froze. What was he doing here? And why did he have to show up when she was wearing her rattiest pair of jeans, an old Columbia sweatshirt and no makeup?

  “Hi.” She forced a weak smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “Neither was I, but you left something behind last night.” He held up her BlackBerry.

  Holy crap. She hadn’t even noticed it was missing—but then, her phone hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook lately. “Thanks. I appreciate you bringing it by in person.”

  “I figured you’d want it back as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t last five minutes without my phone.” He slipped it in the side pocket of her purse. “There you go.”

  The groceries were getting heavy; she was about to set the bags down on the sidewalk when Eric’s driver stepped forward and took them from her. “Um, how’d you know I was living here?” she asked, her gaze flicking from the driver back to Eric.

  “The cab driving off in the wrong direction last night was my first clue,” Eric said. “Then when I showed up at your old building and saw you weren’t listed on the directory, I looked up Holly’s number on your phone and gave her a call.”

  So now he knew she was not only out of a job, but reduced to sacking out on her best friend’s couch. Oh for a crack in the pavement to crawl through… “Well, um, thanks for coming so far out of your way. Like I said, I appreciate it.”

  She was about to bolt up the front steps, groceries be damned, when Eric reached for her arm. “Let James help you carry everything inside.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she snapped. “I can manage fine by myself.”

  “I know you can. But there’s no shame in asking for help.”

  She hadn’t felt so awful and humiliated about her situation until now. Accepting Holly’s aid was one thing—they’d been friends since freshman year in college, and besides, she knew Holly would never think less of her for it. But Eric’s offer hit her like a fist to the gut, making her realize how sad and pathetic she must look to him.

  Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard, channeling the tears into brittle laughter. “That’s funny, coming from Mr. Self-Sufficient himself.”

  “You think I haven’t been at the end of my rope? Believe me, I have. I’m sure Nick must have told you what happened the year my mother died.”

  God, why couldn’t he just go? “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking away for a moment, and now Ally saw the weariness—and the loneliness—beneath his veneer of casual indifference. “But I’d hate to see you tumble down the same rabbit hole I ended up in.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, but she had to say something. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got a roof over my head and all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I can eat. It’s sweet of you to want to help, but I haven’t reached the point of utter desperation yet.”

  “All right. But I’d count it as a favor if you’d have dinner with me this evening.”

  She hesitated, until he fixed her with an intense blue gaze that turned everything from her knees down to water. “Why?”

  “Because I’d rather not go home tonight and drink myself into a stupor again. Think you can help me with that?”

  A hundred lame excuses swirled in her brain, but when he flashed her that mischievous smirk that had made her want to smack him so many times in the past, her last scrap of resistance dissolved. “Okay, okay, you win. But it can’t be one of your fancy five-star eateries. I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

  “I know just the place. Pick you up at seven?”

  “Seven it is.”

  Eric still insisted on his driver carrying her packages in for her. This time she didn’t kick up a fuss, though her cheeks flushed hot when Eric caught a glimpse of the rumpled bedding piled on the couch.

  She peered out the front window as the limo drove away, a tiny anxious flutter settling in the pit of her stomach. Accepting Eric’s invitation was probably a very bad idea, but it was too late to change her mind now.

  Chapter Two

  Eric decided to leave the limo behind tonight, and drove his sapphire-blue Jag XKE to pick up Ally for their dinner date. She must have been keeping a lookout for him, because she emerged from the building a few seconds after he pulled up, flashing him her trademark toothy grin. He climbed out of the car and opened the passenger’s side door for her, grinning right back.

  “Do I look okay?” She twirled to give him a prime view of her stylish black wool pencil skirt and matching cardigan, with a white

  V-neck blouse underneath. She wore her hair up tonight in a neat classic French twist. Pearls at her throat and earlobes completed the ensemble. “It’s my job interview outfit,” she added with an apologetic shrug. “Nothing else was clean.”

  “You look enchanting,” he replied with utmost sincerity, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving. I worked straight through without stopping for lunch.” She gave the car a once-over, letting out a whistle. “What’s with the extra-fancy wheels?”

  “I felt like driving tonight.” Eric circled around to the driver’s side. “C’mon, let’s go eat before one of us passes out.”

  He cut across town on 40th Street, then headed straight up Amsterdam, pulling up in front of an old haunt from their college days with a familiar red, white and green flashing neon sign. The l in “Alfredo’s” was burned out, but aside from that, it looked virtually the same as it had a decade earlier.

  Ally crowed with delight. “Oh my God, I haven’t been here in ages! I didn’t even know they were still open.”

  “Neither did I, until I cracked open the phone book this afternoon. Shall we go see if that double-pepperoni pizza’s still as good as we remember?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  The restaurant hadn’t changed much on the inside either, except the rickety old TV over th
e bar was now replaced by a thirty-two-inch plasma screen. Same old cocktail tables in front, booths covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths in back. The drippy red candles stuck in old wine bottles struck a hokey yet heartwarming chord.

  “Talk about stepping into the way-back machine,” Ally observed as the hostess ushered them to a booth, then left them to look over their menus. “In fact, I think I recognize that crack in the wall over there.”

  “It’s comforting to know that some things in this world remain constant.”

  She gave him a look he couldn’t quite puzzle out, coupled with a tiny smile. “I suppose so.”

  They ordered all their old college standbys: Caesar salad, a large double-pepperoni and a carafe of house red. The wine tasted tart and vinegary, but it still packed one hell of a kick; Eric called a halt after a glass and a half, then switched to Perrier. Last thing he needed was to get too intoxicated to drive home, and have to leave the Jag parked on the street overnight.

  Ally, on the other hand, appeared quite happy to polish off the carafe by herself. When she started to fill her glass for the third time, Eric reached over and laid his hand across the mouth of her glass. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  The carafe froze in midair. “Who died and made you the booze police?”

  Concern warring with discretion, he slowly pulled his hand back. Hard experience had taught him that pressing the issue would only prove futile. But perhaps a more subtle strategy would yield the desired result. “Go ahead and finish the bottle, if you insist. Good thing you’re wearing flats tonight.”

  For a second, she looked as if she was about to pour herself another anyway. Instead, her gaze flicked from him to the carafe and back again, before she finally set it down. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Eric signaled for the waitress to take the wine away and bring Ally a glass of water. “This is the second time in as many days that I’ve seen you overindulge.”

  “Haven’t I got a pretty good reason?”

  “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be doing it. First it’s an excuse, then it becomes a habit, and by that point, it’s too hard to stop. And I should know, after what I went through trying to get my mother to quit.”

  Ally’s expression softened. “You really miss her, don’t you?”

  “More than I can say,” he murmured, the mere thought of her sending a familiar sharp, shiny pain to prick and sting him. “She had her faults, and I’ve lost count of all the time I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, but… Aside from Nick, she’s the only person in my entire life I’ve ever truly loved.”

  “Not Barbara?”

  There was a question he wasn’t expecting. It sent a jolt of surprise jetting through him. “Most definitely not Barbara.”

  “Then…well, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you marry her?”

  He let out a weak laugh. “Maybe I should order some more wine before I answer that.”

  “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  But she had, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Might as well tell her and satisfy her curiosity. “Three years ago, I hired a team of strategists to help me do long-range planning for my senatorial run. They told me if it came out that I was living with another man, there’s no way I would ever get elected. But they also said the public’s more inclined to forgive a man for a few youthful indiscretions if it appears that he’s put them behind him and settled down into domestic life.”

  “Enter Barbara.”

  He nodded, then took a long sip of his mineral water before continuing. “She and I were old friends from high school. We hadn’t seen each other in years, until we ran into each other at some charity event. I took her to dinner a few times, and we hit it off again. She wasn’t married or seeing anyone, so I…proposed a bargain.”

  He’d had a feeling Ally might be shocked, and her slack-jawed expression didn’t disappoint. “You mean you bought yourself a wife?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s not as if I had to bribe or coerce her. She was more than willing.”

  “But…Jesus, Eric! Are you telling me you kicked Nick out to marry some woman you hadn’t seen in over a decade, all for the sake of an election that wouldn’t happen for years yet?”

  Did it really come off as cold-blooded as she made it sound? “Before you get on your high horse, both Nick and Barbara agreed to the arrangement. In fact, Barbara was perfectly happy to let me go on seeing Nick, as long as she got to enjoy all the other perks of being Mrs. Eric Courtland. She never had any call to complain about the way I treated her.”

  “Really? Then why did she divorce you?”

  “You’d have to ask her. All I know is, I came home one evening and she was gone. The divorce papers were delivered to my office the next day.” Strange, how the memory smarted now, when at the time he’d felt nothing but a vague emptiness. “We never spoke to each other again, except across a courtroom.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ally said. “Doesn’t sound like a great way for a marriage to end, even a sham one.” She grabbed her purse and started sliding out of the booth. “I should be getting back. I’ve still got some work to do tonight.”

  Their waitress was busy, so Eric took the check up to the bar and paid it, then followed Ally out to the car. Silence crackled in the air for several long city blocks. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’re you working on?”

  “Some freelance stuff. I’m trying to make the transition from features to hard news, but it’s a bit tricky when you don’t have a steady gig.”

  “But Holly said you’d sold a few articles.”

  She gave him a look. “Holly needs to keep her mouth shut.” Then, with a sigh, she added, “It’s enough to keep me in peanut butter and shampoo, but it’s not a career. Not yet, anyway.”

  Holly’s neighborhood looked fairly safe, but Eric insisted on escorting Ally to the front door. They stood staring at each other while Eric fought the urge to shift from one foot to the other, his palms growing clammy. Despite the serious turn the evening had taken, he realized with a pang that he didn’t want it to end.

  “Listen,” he said, “I’m having a small soirée at the penthouse this Saturday. Just a few of my business acquaintances, but it might prove a good opportunity for you to make some valuable contacts, maybe even land an interview or two. I’d be honored if you could attend as my date.”

  “I can’t. I already told you, I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Why don’t you leave that to me?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Look, Eric, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to. Maybe I want to.”

  “But why? You’ve never paid me this much attention before.”

  That much was true. And why not? He hadn’t opened up to anyone like this in years, not since…well, since Nick. It felt good, having someone to confide in again. “In that case, it’s high time I made up for my past neglect.”

  She covered her mouth, in an obvious attempt to stifle a giggle. An artless, girlish gesture that Eric found utterly charming. “Something tells me I’ll end up regretting this, but…okay.”

  “I’ll send the limo for you at seven-thirty.”

  “Don’t be silly. I can take the subway.”

  He flashed his widest, most evil grin. Wait till she saw what he had in store for her. “Not in what you’ll be wearing.”

  * * *

  Ally found out exactly what Eric meant when a uniformed courier arrived at her door on Saturday morning, bearing a huge red-beribboned box from one of the most exclusive women’s boutiques on Fifth Avenue. Inside, nestled in a cotton-candy cloud of pink tissue paper, lay a knee-length Vera Wang cocktail gown, dripping with strands of hand-sewn beads, in a faux-1920s flapper style. At first glance, it appeared to be classic black, but when Ally held it up to the light she saw it was really a deep, dark midnight blue.
There was another, smaller box swimming in all the paper, containing a brand-new pair of matching Manolos, shiny, elegant patent leather with four-inch stiletto heels.

  Holly stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Ally unpack her unexpected treasure trove. “Looks like Cinderella scored some extra-fancy duds for the ball.”

  Ally glanced at her roommate, then back at the dress and shoes still piled in their box on the coffee table. “I can’t accept this. The dress is an original, for God’s sake. It must’ve cost Eric thousands.”

  “He can afford it. His wife never left the house wearing anything cheaper than Chanel.”

  “Except I’m not his wife.”

  Holly nodded at the box. “Still, it’d be a shame if you sent it all back without trying it on first, wouldn’t it?”

  So much for willpower. Took Ally a grand total of five seconds to snatch up the dress and shoes and march into the bathroom to see how the outfit looked in the full-length mirror. The silk sheath whispered over her skin like a feather’s kiss, an absolute perfect fit—in fact, almost too perfect. It clung to her every curve, leaving no bra strap or panty line to the imagination.

  Before she lost her nerve, she took everything off, then slipped the dress back on again. This time it fit like a coat of wet paint, the beads gently swaying with her every move, rustling like leaves in a spring breeze. The shoes were her size too, their height lengthening her petite legs and lifting her ass so it looked like a round, delectable apple. She marveled at Eric’s uncanny talent for guessing her sizes, until she recalled that she was roughly the same height and weight as Barbara, and he must’ve seen the 7 emblazoned on the insides of her ruined pumps when she’d taken them off the other night. Still, she had to hand it to him, both for his daring and his exquisite taste. She’d never worn an outfit that made her look—or feel—so blatantly sexy.

  Holly whistled approvingly when Ally came out to show her the ensemble. “Guess you won’t be wearing pantyhose tonight.”