Rusty Nailed
Page 15
Hell, I’d do it if I had the chance. A never-ending vacation with Simon? Gondola rides in Venice? Yodeling in Saint Moritz? Fucking in Frankfurt?
But I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to think about the person left behind, the person left behind holding the design bag. How could Jillian Designs function without Jillian?
“I’ve already talked to my accountant, who can walk you through any weird payroll issues that might come up. And it’s not like I’ll be in a cave somewhere. We’ll do weekly conference calls; I can assist with whatever you need. You’ll see, it’ll be fine,” she assured me, her face filled with a confidence in me that I didn’t share.
Could I do this? Jillian seemed to think so. Plus I’d have a new intern. I didn’t want to say no, not when I knew she was counting on me.
This is too much.
This is also an opportunity. One that would likely never come along again.
Shit yes, I could do this.
“So tell me about this house-sitting gig. Does it come with the Mercedes in the garage?”
“It sure does.”
“I’m in!”
“That’s great! Now, back to you and Simon. So no marriage just yet, but have you talked about living together?”
I bit through my colored pencil.
• • •
“How’s the sexiest interior designer on the West Coast?”
“You flatter me. Have you been keeping your bits and pieces tucked into your wet suit and away from shark week?”
“Best as I can. How’re things going at work? You ever pin Jillian down about how long they’re going to be away on their honeymoon?” Simon asked, calling in for his nightly chat. Which was really breakfast, his time. It’s amazing how fast you learn all the time zones when your boyfriend was usually running across all of them in any given month.
I sank back against the bed pillows. “I got a vague idea. Somewhere between indefinite and sabbatical.”
“Wow, really? What does that mean for you?”
“In a word? Fucking busy.”
“That’s two words, nightie girl.”
“I’m so busy it can’t possibly be contained to just one word. The good news is, I scored us a house with a killer view of the bay.”
“Huh?”
“Jillian asked if I wanted to house-sit for them while they’re gone.”
“And you said yes?”
“I did; how could I turn that down? Why, do you not want to stay there? It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be boring.” He groaned.
I rolled my eyes. Simon loved his city living. “Oh please, it’ll be great. Besides, I don’t think we need to stay out there every night. I think they just don’t want the place sitting empty for all that time.”
“Humph,” was his response.
“We can go hot tubbing.”
“Humph?” was his more interested response.
“As you recall, I tend to lose all control when bubbles are involved,” I said, thinking back to the first time we hot tubbed in Tahoe.
“True. Will there be skinny-dipping?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
“Mmm, you’re killing me.” He groaned, but this time in a very different way.
“Anyway, as busy as I’m going to be, it’ll be nice to have a change of pace. It’ll feel a little like a vacation just across the bridge. I’m barely going to be able to come up for air in the next few months.”
“Speaking of vacation, I just booked a job in Bora Bora. Wanna go?”
“What?”
“Yep, after the wedding. What do you say? Thatched hut over the water? Coconut bikinis? Actual sex on the beach?”
I clenched my hands in frustration.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? I’m swamped, and about to get even swampier. I can’t go to Bora Bora. I couldn’t even go to Napa if I wanted—” I stopped myself from going on a full tirade and took a deep breath. “Simon, that’s very sweet of you, and you know there’s nothing I’d like more than to run off to the South Pacific with you. But I just can’t. I literally can’t even think about that right now, okay?”
He was silent for a minute. The line was a bit crackly, and I imagined how far he truly was from me that night. How far that phone connection was, stretching halfway around the world to reach me. I sighed into my half of that connection.
“You’re right, babe, I wasn’t thinking. I do know how important this is to you. You know that.”
“I do know that.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good year for Rio?” he asked, his voice quiet, but with an underlying tone.
“Don’t you dare—I’m looking forward to that trip more than I can say! Things will have settled down by then. But in the meantime, I just can’t drop everything and island hop.”
He was silent.
“I love you,” I whispered, wishing he was here to hug and hold.
“I love you too. I’m glad I’ll be home soon.” His voice had mellowed some.
“We’ll have fun at the wedding,” I said, changing the subject. “You gonna dance with me?”
“You bet your sweet bippy. I’ll even get them to play us some Glen Miller.”
“That always works.” I giggled.
“Caroline?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“I know it works.” He chuckled.
We said good night, then I went across the hall and let myself into his apartment. Putting the phonograph needle down, I slipped back to my apartment and into bed. Glen Miller played me to sleep through the walls, and I dreamed I was dancing on a beach in Brazil with my photographer.
• • •
Three nights before the wedding, I was still at work at eight thirty and I’d just canceled dinner with Sophia and Mimi.
Bring a grown-up sucked sometimes.
I’d been in meetings all day with Camden’s people, finalizing details on the construction that was beginning next week. We weren’t doing a complete teardown, just a gut rehab, using the existing lines of the hotel but reworking the layout of nearly everything.
Monica, the new intern, was enjoying a first week of trial by fire. She’d been thrown into the deep end headfirst, but she was swimming. She’d run errands, she’d delivered paperwork, she’d filed for permits; she’d really taken a lot off my plate. And speaking of plate . . .
My tummy was grumbling. I padded into the kitchenette, pretty sure I had a burrito stashed somewhere in the freezer, when my phone rang. Sophia.
But I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to think about the person left behind, the person left behind holding the design bag. How could Jillian Designs function without Jillian?
“I’ve already talked to my accountant, who can walk you through any weird payroll issues that might come up. And it’s not like I’ll be in a cave somewhere. We’ll do weekly conference calls; I can assist with whatever you need. You’ll see, it’ll be fine,” she assured me, her face filled with a confidence in me that I didn’t share.
Could I do this? Jillian seemed to think so. Plus I’d have a new intern. I didn’t want to say no, not when I knew she was counting on me.
This is too much.
This is also an opportunity. One that would likely never come along again.
Shit yes, I could do this.
“So tell me about this house-sitting gig. Does it come with the Mercedes in the garage?”
“It sure does.”
“I’m in!”
“That’s great! Now, back to you and Simon. So no marriage just yet, but have you talked about living together?”
I bit through my colored pencil.
• • •
“How’s the sexiest interior designer on the West Coast?”
“You flatter me. Have you been keeping your bits and pieces tucked into your wet suit and away from shark week?”
“Best as I can. How’re things going at work? You ever pin Jillian down about how long they’re going to be away on their honeymoon?” Simon asked, calling in for his nightly chat. Which was really breakfast, his time. It’s amazing how fast you learn all the time zones when your boyfriend was usually running across all of them in any given month.
I sank back against the bed pillows. “I got a vague idea. Somewhere between indefinite and sabbatical.”
“Wow, really? What does that mean for you?”
“In a word? Fucking busy.”
“That’s two words, nightie girl.”
“I’m so busy it can’t possibly be contained to just one word. The good news is, I scored us a house with a killer view of the bay.”
“Huh?”
“Jillian asked if I wanted to house-sit for them while they’re gone.”
“And you said yes?”
“I did; how could I turn that down? Why, do you not want to stay there? It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be boring.” He groaned.
I rolled my eyes. Simon loved his city living. “Oh please, it’ll be great. Besides, I don’t think we need to stay out there every night. I think they just don’t want the place sitting empty for all that time.”
“Humph,” was his response.
“We can go hot tubbing.”
“Humph?” was his more interested response.
“As you recall, I tend to lose all control when bubbles are involved,” I said, thinking back to the first time we hot tubbed in Tahoe.
“True. Will there be skinny-dipping?”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
“Mmm, you’re killing me.” He groaned, but this time in a very different way.
“Anyway, as busy as I’m going to be, it’ll be nice to have a change of pace. It’ll feel a little like a vacation just across the bridge. I’m barely going to be able to come up for air in the next few months.”
“Speaking of vacation, I just booked a job in Bora Bora. Wanna go?”
“What?”
“Yep, after the wedding. What do you say? Thatched hut over the water? Coconut bikinis? Actual sex on the beach?”
I clenched my hands in frustration.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? I’m swamped, and about to get even swampier. I can’t go to Bora Bora. I couldn’t even go to Napa if I wanted—” I stopped myself from going on a full tirade and took a deep breath. “Simon, that’s very sweet of you, and you know there’s nothing I’d like more than to run off to the South Pacific with you. But I just can’t. I literally can’t even think about that right now, okay?”
He was silent for a minute. The line was a bit crackly, and I imagined how far he truly was from me that night. How far that phone connection was, stretching halfway around the world to reach me. I sighed into my half of that connection.
“You’re right, babe, I wasn’t thinking. I do know how important this is to you. You know that.”
“I do know that.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good year for Rio?” he asked, his voice quiet, but with an underlying tone.
“Don’t you dare—I’m looking forward to that trip more than I can say! Things will have settled down by then. But in the meantime, I just can’t drop everything and island hop.”
He was silent.
“I love you,” I whispered, wishing he was here to hug and hold.
“I love you too. I’m glad I’ll be home soon.” His voice had mellowed some.
“We’ll have fun at the wedding,” I said, changing the subject. “You gonna dance with me?”
“You bet your sweet bippy. I’ll even get them to play us some Glen Miller.”
“That always works.” I giggled.
“Caroline?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“I know it works.” He chuckled.
We said good night, then I went across the hall and let myself into his apartment. Putting the phonograph needle down, I slipped back to my apartment and into bed. Glen Miller played me to sleep through the walls, and I dreamed I was dancing on a beach in Brazil with my photographer.
• • •
Three nights before the wedding, I was still at work at eight thirty and I’d just canceled dinner with Sophia and Mimi.
Bring a grown-up sucked sometimes.
I’d been in meetings all day with Camden’s people, finalizing details on the construction that was beginning next week. We weren’t doing a complete teardown, just a gut rehab, using the existing lines of the hotel but reworking the layout of nearly everything.
Monica, the new intern, was enjoying a first week of trial by fire. She’d been thrown into the deep end headfirst, but she was swimming. She’d run errands, she’d delivered paperwork, she’d filed for permits; she’d really taken a lot off my plate. And speaking of plate . . .
My tummy was grumbling. I padded into the kitchenette, pretty sure I had a burrito stashed somewhere in the freezer, when my phone rang. Sophia.
