The Love in Duet Collection, page 24
“Tell me more about the songs the coolest hero ever in film sings . . .”
She rattles on about the production until the train reaches her stop. Then she says goodbye, and I’ll miss having her by my side at the next wedding.
No help for it. I definitely require a shot or two tonight. Looks like a stop at Gin Joint is in order.
When I exit the subway on Eighteenth Street, I turn down the block and find a text from my buddy Malone, sent about ten minutes ago.
Malone: Just finished a set at Gin Joint. Incidentally, I killed it. I’m here with Nick and Harper for a few if you want to join.
Well, sounds like he can read my mind. I tap out a reply, then stop when I spot him walking toward me, dressed in a tailored suit, his silk tie loosened a bit. Times like this, you’d be hard-pressed to believe he wears a white coat during the day as he examines cats and dogs. After hours, he looks every bit the part of the dapper lounge singer.
“If it isn’t the vet by day, Harry Connick Jr. by night.”
“I am something of a superhero. But then, don’t we all have our secret identities?”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I check my watch. “I guess you didn’t last long after you crooned your heart out to the crowd of . . . what was it, two people tonight?”
“Packed house, asshole. Packed house.”
“If you say so.”
He narrows his eyes. “And you wonder why I’m leaving.”
“Aww, you’re so sensitive. It’s sweet.” I gesture toward the end of the block. “I take it you’re calling it a night?”
“I am. But Nick and Harper are at Gin Joint, so you can catch up with them. The place is still hopping. No surprise. My sister is a maestro of the nightlife business.” He smiles, and there’s pride in that grin. Malone and Truly are closer than most siblings, maybe from being twins. Now and then, though, it sends a prickle of guilt down my neck because I’m keeping a secret from him. But if he knew what happened between Truly and me one snowy night six months ago, he likely wouldn’t be talking to me right now.
But since it’s never going to happen with his sister again, there’s nothing to worry about. “I’ll go catch up with the crew.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow night at softball,” he says, then takes off, humming “Give My Regards to Broadway” as he goes. “Give my regards to Broadway. Remember me to Herald Square.”
“Stop, make it stop. It’s like a chainsaw mating with a jackhammer,” I shout.
“I’m sorry, did you say I’m making it rain? I thought so.” He waves dismissively and continues his number down the block.
I head to the bar. Drinks, friends, people to talk to where I can be myself? A spot where I don’t need to pretend I’m buddy-buddy with everyone just to make a buck? Sounds great. But the part I like best?
Sparring with Malone’s sister.
I mean, with Truly.
My good friend Truly.
That’s all she is. Not my best mate’s sister who I screwed one Saturday night when we were out of town.
But before I reach the bar, my phone bleats. It’s Chip, my client for next weekend. I answer right away, gliding into my practiced don’t-ever-let-on-there-are-problems tone. I’ll need it to avoid the thorny issue of whether I’m still bringing along a date as he’d requested.
5
From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book
Game Plan:
Gin
Blackberry
Home-brewed ginger ale
When business throws you a curveball, what do you do? When someone surprises you and wants something a little different than you expected, do you freak out and say, “OMG! I can’t do that”?
No way.
You woman up.
You figure it out.
You develop a new game plan.
If you don’t have one yet, it’s time for a little gin, a little home-brewed ginger ale, and some fresh-crushed blackberries. Have a sip, savor the effervescence, and delight in the fizz. Let yourself drift off as new plans start to form.
Soon enough, you’ll know what to do to get what you want.
6
“Hey, Chip, how’s it going? Counting down the days till the big I do?”
“Hi, Jay!” I don’t use my real name in the business. Jay is an easy pseudonym, and using it helps to keep my worlds separate. “Just wanted to double, triple, quadruple check everything for next weekend.”
I reel off the details, hoping to avoid mentioning my now dateless state. “My groomsmen are at the ready. Troy will be with me, along with his wife. He’s fantastic and has an uncanny ability to fit into any situation. And then there’s Sully, also with the missus as his plus-one. He’s very focused, very committed to the job, so he’ll be excellent. You’ll have all the groomsmen you need to pair up with the bridal party for photos and walking the aisle.”
“Perfect. That’s everything Ashley wants, and that’s all I want—to make her happy.”
“That’s a great way to start a marriage.” This is perfect. He’s not even thinking about whether he wants me to bring someone.
“And if anyone asks, we met in the running club and you work in advertising,” he says, recapping the backstory we created.
“You’ve got it right. You’ve got everything right.”
“But what’s your favorite cuisine? I should probably know, right? Shoot. What if someone asks? What if someone wants to know your favorite book? What if someone wants to know your sign?”
“Of the zodiac?”
“Yes! I don’t know it.”
“I promise you, Chip, no one expects you to know the astrological sign of a guy friend. Also, anything by Vonnegut and nothing by Ayn Rand, and everything by Nick Offerman. And I like Thai and Japanese.”
“I dig Nick Offerman too. I bet we exchanged dog-eared paperbacks. Wink, wink.”
“With Offerman you really ought to get the audiobook, but sure, paperback works.”
“And your favorite band? What if someone wants to know that? What if they want to know what concerts we’ve been to? Should I say Coldplay?”
“No!” With the fire of a thousand blazing suns, I kill that notion dead. “Never. Coldplay is what they play to torture you behind enemy lines. I’m a Beatles and Rolling Stones man.”
“Oh, cool! I like them too! Almost as much as Coldplay. I’d say maybe we could go to a Stones show someday, but I’ll probably be too busy. I always am. I’m sure it’s the same with you.”
“Absolutely.”
This is what I like about Chip. Despite his puppy-dog persona, he’s not poised to turn into a stage-five clinger after the wedding. He hired me because he’s completely content to spend his time with his woman, his 5K runs, his work, and his dog. Friendships aren’t his focus, so I don’t suspect he’ll be clutching my ankle and trying to follow me out the door when this is over.
“One more thing. Can you do one of those fancy accents? Ashley loves Love Actually, so she’d get a kick out of it. I like to pretend I’m Hugh Grant sometimes. I do the whole ‘Jump’ routine for her, and she digs that. ‘Yeah, Betty, I’m thinking, can we move the Japanese ambassador to four o’clock tomorrow?’”
“I’ll go full Hugh Grant for the groom and bride,” I say, giving him my best posh voice.
“Ahhh! Yours is so much better than mine. But hey, at least my lady likes this guy from Tallahassee. And you’re bringing along your lovely lady friend. I can’t wait to meet her. I love meeting new people.”
I wince, slowing my pace as I reach Gin Joint, scrubbing a hand across my stubbled jaw. “About that. Turns out I’ll be flying solo next weekend. But it’ll be great.”
I leave it at that. No need to dive into details.
“Oh, no, no.” His voice zooms ten stories high. “Buddy, you can’t come solo. I sold Ashley on you with the understanding that you were half of a couple. That all our men were coupled up.”
“I understand, but at the end of the day, why does it matter?”
“Her youngest sister is one of the bridesmaids, and she’s only eighteen. Amelia’s completely boy-obsessed. Ashley is worried her sister will throw herself at any good-looking guy in her path. And you? Well, look in the mirror. You’re too hot to be single. Not my words—those are Ashley’s. Actually, she said that about all of you when I showed her the pics, so you definitely need a plus-one.”
“Thanks. I think. But wait a second. Do we have enough groomsmen? Don’t you need one for her sister? Or is that playing into the issue?”
“Don’t worry about Amelia. She’ll walk with the maid of honor.”
“Good to know,” I say diplomatically. That’s an odd situation, the bridesmaid needing a chaperone, but maybe it solves the problem of the boy obsession. “And I’ll find a date.”
“I bet you can find one as quickly as I can find the problem in this pipeline project I’ve been studying while we’ve been on the phone. Yup. Found it!”
“You’re speedy.”
“That’s what she said.” He laughs and says good night before I can tell him that’s not really how that saying is supposed to work.
As I find myself at the door of Truly’s bar, I flash back to advice I gave a reader on my blog a few weeks ago. He’d been invited to a work event on the weekend and wanted to know if he should find a date for it on Tinder.
My response?
We modern gentlemen face this “where to find my plus-one” dilemma all the time. But let me share my best advice with you. Are you ready? Come closer. A little closer. DO NOT FIND YOUR DATE ON TINDER.
Tinder isn’t the place for those kinds of hookups—the ones where you need to be a gentleman. Where you want people to remember you, not your date who drank all the free champagne.
No, I told this reader the best solution when we need someone by our side for a special occasion is to ask a friend.
It was sound advice, if I do say so myself. I suppose I should follow it.
7
As a rule of thumb, I don’t dwell on problems or linger over setbacks. I certainly don’t wallow.
I charge forward with focus and tenacity, solving problems for myself and others.
Tonight’s problem I will solve in a bar.
With my jacket slung over my arm, I head into Gin Joint, scanning the swank place for my friends. I spot Harper draped on a purple couch, chatting with her husband, Nick, and when I catch his eye, I signal that I’ll join them shortly. He flips me the bird. I flip him the bird back, and all is well.
I grab a spot at the end of the bar, searching for the woman I came to see. I need to feel her out first. See what kind of mood she’s in.
She’s mixing a martini for a guy with hair slicked back with so much product, it looks like it’s cracking. I’ve written a number of blogs with grooming tips that could help him out. Maybe start with Gel—more is not your friend.
I scan the chalkboard for the signature drinks. Among the gin specials are Game Plan, Last Word, Devil’s Teeth, Hush Money, and That One Time.
A brunette with a Great Gatsby hairstyle—shoulder-length with one of those 1920s headbands—joins Truly behind the bar, taking over the martini.
The woman I came to see marches over to me, plunks down a napkin, then tips her chin toward the Daisy Buchanan look-alike. “Gabriella will get the next few customers, since I suspect you deserve the owner’s attention.”
“I like to think I always do.”
“What can I get for you? Because you look like someone just told you that you can’t have bacon for breakfast.”
I shoot her a have you gone mad look. “Bacon for breakfast? I hope that’s not what you think I eat.”
She parks her hands on the bar. “What do you have for breakfast?”
“Eggs and soldiers.”
Her brow furrows. “What is that?”
I sigh heavily, dropping my forehead to the counter. “Why, oh why, Lord, am I still explaining British references after all these years?”
“I know the basics. Chips, fish, tea, blah, blah, blah.”
I look up, shaking my head sadly. “What am I going to do with you? You need a full and proper education in English food. The soldiers are pieces of toast you dip into the egg, soft-boiled and perched in a snazzy egg cup.”
“Ah. Here we call that, wait for it, toast.”
“Yes, eggs and toast. We’re simply more creative across the pond. But I never have bacon.”
She holds up her hand to high-five. “Welcome to the club of bacon haters.”
“Wait. You have a club?” I high-five back, enjoying the contact more than I thought possible with high fives. But she does have great hands. They did wondrous things to my dick one night.
Stop.
Just stop that right now, dirty brain.
“Of course we have a club. We have meetings and bylaws too.”
“Sign me up, then.”
“We have much work to do, comrade. And work requires a drink. I’m getting the vibe that you’re in the mood for one of my specials—a little gin, a couple cucumbers, and the best part? My homemade red-pepper laced lemonade.” Her gaze sweeps to the chalkboard sign. “Otherwise known as That One Time. Can I interest you?”
“You can very much interest me in That One Time.”
She spins around, grabs a glass, and starts mixing. I settle in on the black metal stool, enjoying the view.
Women like her pouring drinks—it’s one of my favorite sights. Right next to women in bikinis lazing in the sun and women sliding on fishnet stockings and then slipping into heels. Wait, that’s not fair to the image of women in white lace. That makes the list too.
She sets the glass in front of me, and I taste the concoction, savoring the sweet start and the fiery finish. “Beautiful. Now, tell me, why was I in the mood for That One Time?”
She eyes me up and down, with a cool and confident gaze. “Same way I could tell my friend Presley needed one when she was here a few minutes ago. Because she clearly had had a shit day at work, and things were not going her way. And it sure looks like things didn’t go your way tonight.”
“And how exactly can you tell?” I ask since I’m not the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve.
Truly twirls her finger in a circle at me. “I can tell because you’re in your tux, Nora’s not here, and you have this furrow in your brow that says all is not perfect in Jason Land.”
She excuses herself to saunter to the end of the bar to help Gabriella for a moment, and I glance down at my tux then figuratively side-eye the furrow in my brow. Am I more transparent than I thought, giving off telltale signs of frustration? Well, that’s unacceptable. I'm practical, I’m fun, but I’m not emotional. I’ve seen where emotions can lead a man, and now I’m focused and have been since Claire Wedgewood, the woman I thought I was going to marry once upon a time, decided that waiting around didn’t fit in her schedule.
Then again, she was ridiculously good at putting herself first, so do what you know and all that.
With Truly tending to orders, I take my phone from my pocket and check my e-mail.
There’s a new one from Ryder Lockhart, a relationship and advice guru superstar.
Can you do another guest appearance on my show this week? We have a segment coming up on dos and don’ts for modern guys in business. Good fit for you. Think of some of your best tips and be ready to be pithy and witty.
Hell, yes. I am overflowing with pith and wit just waiting for me to share. I write back faster than a Bugatti, letting Ryder know I’ll be there.
When Truly swings by again, I put the phone away and answer her unasked question—what went wrong tonight. “If you must know, the date ended terribly with Nora.”
Truly’s lips curve up in the faintest of grins for a nanosecond before flattening into a straight line. “What happened? Did you guys split up?”
How I want to toy with her to see if she’s actually jealous. But that wouldn’t help my mission. “We weren’t together.”
“Oh.” She sounds delighted.
“Nora has been my pretend date at a few weddings.”
“I thought the best man for hire mostly rode solo?”
“For the most part, but sometimes the couple prefers a plus-one, or it’s easier in the circumstances. Nora was quite good at it. She’s an actress, and she wanted to workshop some characters. But she was just cast in Raiders of the Lost Ark the Musical, so she’s now unavailable.”
Truly’s eyes light up. “I want to see that when it comes to Broadway.”
“Consider it a date. I’ll order tickets tonight.”
For a second, a smile seems to tug at her lips, almost as if she likes the idea of a date. But it vanishes quickly. “Pick out seats in the friend zone.”
I take out my sad trombone and play a few lonely notes. “You love reminding me that you cruelly friend-zoned me.”
“We friend-zoned each other. It was mutual. Do I need to remind you of the morning after?”
“Only if you want me to remind you of all the things you said the night before.”
She heaves a sigh. “Jason.”
“Yes. Like that. Only with a little more of a long, lingering moan. Kind of breathy. Sort of like Jason, yes, right there. Harder.”
Her eyes never waver, never break my gaze as she leans closer, dropping her voice. “Truly, fucking hell. Yeah. That. Just like that. Your mouth on me. So fucking perfect.”
Turn the oven off. I’m cooked. Officially roasted. I toss the figurative white flag at her. “You win.”
She takes a deep bow. “Thought I might. But let’s not forget the other things we both said, mainly We can’t do this again. Malone will kill us.”
“Hmm. That does sound familiar, now that you say it. And speaking of avoiding imminent death, I have a massive boulder rolling in my direction next weekend. It’s the first of a number of weddings coming up where I have been asked to bring a date.”
