City Chicks

Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

No one spoke to me on the flight back to New York. Not that I was much up for conversation anyway. Ferrero was, understandably, not speaking to me. Janice and Kelly were mad at me on Ferrero’s behalf.

Gavin and Elliot were standing by their ultimatum and avoiding me until I made my decision.

Since I had only myself for company, and I was pretty miserable company at that, I popped a pair of sleep aids, found an empty row of seats in coach, and slept the entire flight.

I didn’t wake up until a flight attendant shook me and asked me to prepare for landing. I just buckled in where I was and, by the time all the rows in front of me had disembarked and I got up to first class to grab my carry-on, all of my traveling companions were gone.

The only person I recognized at the baggage carousel was Ferrero’s driver. He gave me a sympathetic smile as he shook his head and told me that I was instructed to find my own transport home.

Way to round out a perfect week, Vanderwalk.

Things couldn’t possibly get—

No. Nope, nuhh-uh, I wasn’t saying this time. Because time had taught me that things could always get… yeah, that.

“You are a genius, Lydia.”

I stared at the phone in my hand, wondering if I’d downloaded some fancy new app that reversed what the caller was saying.

“Ferrero?” I asked, incredulous that he would be calling me at all, let alone phoning to call me a genius.

“Pre-sales on the Fall collection are through the roof.” His Italian accent was gone, South Jersey coming through loud and clear. “Thanks to you.”

“What do you mean?”

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen and a mind-clearing cup of peppermint tea.

“Your publicity stunt worked,” he continued. “The press ate it up like Godiva, plastering my name on every rag sheet from here to Tokyo.”

“Publicity stunt?”

“Denouncing my Italian identity at the after party in front of everyone.” He sounded delighted. “Brilliant!”

I squinted at the clock on my stove. 6:15. Maybe I needed to unplug my phone at night. None of these early morning conversations ever made sense. I set a cup of hot water in the microwave and punched it on for ninety seconds.

“Ferrero, it’s too early for this kind of confusion. What are you talking about?”

“Lydia, darling, every newspaper in the world covered my party—and my collection—because you outed me in public. There is no such thing as bad press. Our value doubled over the weekend.”

“Oh.”

The microwave beeped and I rushed to pour the boiling water over the tea bag in my coffee mug. While it steeped I inhaled the wakening aroma of peppermint, praying it notched my alertness up a level.

“And it’s not early,” he added, “it’s late.”

Bent over the counter to sniff my tea, I had a closer view of the clock and made out the tiny P next to the time. Jetlag must have hit harder than I thought.

“So you’re not mad at me anymore?” I deduced.

“Mad?” Ferrero squealed. “I adore you!”

If I weren’t so exhausted I might have been happy about that. “That’s good.”

Deeming my tea steeped enough to drink—and my brain desperate enough to endure weak tea—I swallowed a tingling gulp.

“Have you decided about my offer?”

“I didn’t know the position was still available.”

“Of course it is.”

Though peppermint was supposed to calm upset stomachs, mine clenched. Yet another decision to make.

“I’ll let you know by Friday,” I offered. By then my brain might have stopped spinning.

“So Ferrero loves you again?” Bethany asked.

When my enthusiasm level upon returning from Italy hadn’t measured up, she and Fiona called an emergency Wednesday night meeting at Sweet Spot.

“Yes. He even wants me to become his accessories designer.”

“And Gavin still loves you?” Fiona tapped the stainless steel tabletop with a matching silver fingernail.

“Yes,” I moaned. This was nothing I hadn’t been over a billion times in the last two days. “He always has.”

“Phelps too?” Bethany made a note on the rose-colored notepad in front of her.

“It’s Elliot, actually.”

“You call him by his last name?”

“No,” I explained, throwing a scowl Fiona’s way for not telling me in the first place, “his real name is Elliot Phelps. Phelps Elliot is apparently his professional name.”

“Hey,” Fiona returned, hands raised is a defensive gesture, “I didn’t think it’d come up. How was I to know he would fall in love with you?”

“Anyway,” Bethany interrupted, “he loves you too?”

I nodded. My eyes blurred as I stared at the untouched Lemon Drop on the table. Fiona was certain my problem could be solved by a girls night out and buckets of vodka. Noticing that my ice had melted, she grabbed the drink and headed for the bar.

“You love them both?” Beth’s voice softened. “You’re in love with them both?”

I nodded again.

“But they’re so different.”

“I know.” My heart thudded in despair. “That’s why I can’t choose.”

“Here’s the deal,” she asserted, laying it all out for me. “Either you choose one or you lose them both. So let’s figure this out.”

Fiona returned to the table and set down the glass as she sat. “Start with pros and cons. What’s good about Gavin?”

“He’s kind, considerate, and reliable. Established and successful. Ready to settle down.” I watched Bethany take copious notes on a cocktail napkin as I evaluated Gavin like a prize pig. I remembered the special order lemon semifreddo and taking me to see The Kiss. “He remembers all the little things and he makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Okay.” Beth scribbled the last of the pros in Gavin’s column. “What stinks about him?”

“Well...” I opened my mind to an objective imagination of what life would be like with him. “He likes to plan. Likes to have things go his way. And he lives by routine. Things could get dull. And most of the time he’s emotionally reserved.”

“Not in touch with his feminine side, huh?” Fiona appeared to ponder my two lists, absently raising my drink to her lips and guzzling.

“Phelps?” Bethany prodded.

“Elliot,” I corrected.

“Pros,” Fiona gasped as she choked on the sour vodka.

“He’s exciting. Surprising. Spontaneous.” I smiled at the thought of seeing Southampton and Milan via scooter and cruising Lake Como after dark. “He’s always up for fun and adventure. He shakes things up.”

And when I thought about his kisses, my entire body burned.

Bethany grinned. “Not to mention he obviously lights your fire. Does he have any cons?”

“Oh yes,” I hastily answered. “He’s reckless. Has no ambition or definitive plans for the future. And,” I added, drawing out the word with extra importance, “he’s younger than me.”

“That should be a pro.” Fiona grinned wickedly.

“Where does this list get us, sugar?”

Bethany pushed the pink pad across the table. Her feminine script outlined Gavin and Elliot in all their glories and flaws. The truth was, none if it made a difference. Feelings weren’t something you could define on a sheet of paper. They came from deep inside. That was where I would find my answer.

In the background I heard Fiona order another drink and sensed Bethany take the list and tuck it back into her purse.

Despondency sank its teeth into me, right into my heart.

Tears filled my eyes.

Fiona pushed the fresh Lemon Drop in front of me. “What are you going to do?”

I stared at the drink as if I could find my answer there.

If only I could read ice cubes like fortunetellers read tea leaves. But in the end, all I saw was frozen water and vodka. And more problems than answers.

This was the hardest decision I had ever faced. In a perfect world I’d get to choose them both.

“Honestly,” I said as I pushed the drink away, “I just don’t know.”

But even as I said the words, a small voice in the back of my mind said, Of course you do. I just had to be courageous enough to make the choice.