A Perfect Life?

Trip didn’t reply.

“I’ve got a gig on Tuesday if you want,” Erik said.

“Sounds good.” He reached for the new chord. And got it. He loved that feeling. Music was the best companion.

Erik gave him the details about where and when they’d be playing. “I could keep you busy if you’d stay around. You going after this brown-eyed girl?”

“Too much trouble.”

“But that’s the best kind of woman,” Erik said, cackling. “The ones that are trouble.”

“I don’t think so.” Trip didn’t like disappointing people. He’d stayed some months in Denver for a woman, but she started getting on him about the future and his plans, and he’d itched to be on the road. It was always easier to think, to learn, to be himself when he kept moving.

She’d reminded him of Nancy, the girl he’d been with during that mess with his final foster home. He’d fallen hard and when she broke it off, he’d been wrecked. But she’d pointed out what he needed to know about himself and he’d never forgotten.

“So you say,” Erik said, nodding and smiling his wise Buddha smile. He strummed something so complex that Trip had to work to follow it. Good. He’d rather focus on music than women any day.

“SO, I GUESS YOU GET the master bedroom,” Kitty said to Claire Friday afternoon as they stood in the narrow hall of Claire’s apartment. When she’d said Kitty could move in, it had never occurred to Claire that her own bedroom might be up for grabs.

They’d agreed today was a good day for the move, since Rex had the day off and could muscle her stuff upstairs.

Barely moved into the duplex, Kitty hadn’t had much to pack. She’d boxed up her kitchen and bedroom stuff, emptied her closets and rented a truck yesterday. Kitty moved fast when she wanted something. She and Rex had loaded the truck last night and now, Rex was dutifully trotting Kitty’s bed frame through the front door.

“I guess you could pay less rent for the smaller bedroom,” Claire offered.

“No, no,” Kitty said, tapping a French-cut fingernail on her lip, wearing her real-estate-deal look. “Having the bigger bedroom will be like a finder’s fee. You found the place, after all, and paid the deposits.”

She gave her an abrupt, bruising hug. “I’m sooo glad we’re doing this. We’ll have so much fun. We can do each other’s makeup, drink wine and dissect men all night.”

“Sure,” Claire said, trying to look on the bright side of the situation. Kitty wouldn’t let her mope about Jared, that was certain. Plus, a pint of ChocoCherry Rumba Swirl shared seemed way less sinful than one shoveled in alone.

“It’ll be just like college,” Kitty added.

“Uh, yeah.” God, she hoped not. Claire had spent many an evening studying in the library so she didn’t have to listen to Kitty’s headboard thump against the other side of the living room wall. At least the apartment walls here were thick.

“That room,” Kitty said to Rex the Robust, directing him to what they’d agreed would be her bedroom. The two women followed him inside to watch as he bolted the bed frame together. Just watching his muscles ripple from butt to ankle gave Claire thoughts.

“Gonna be tight,” Kitty said.

“Huh?” Claire startled from her fantasy.

“The bed,” Kitty added.

“Oh. Yeah. The bed.” The frame did nearly cover the floor.

“Big bed,” Rex said, rising to stand between them, his face red from exertion.

“All the better to amuse you with,” Kitty said to him, scraping a finger through the stubble on his jaw.

“Really?” Rex said, catching Kitty’s hint. “Great! I’ll get the mattress.” He barreled down the hall, like a kid who’d abruptly gotten permission to buy a video game.

“He’s completely tireless in bed,” Kitty said to Claire. “Like a machine. All muscle, all the time.”

“Sounds nice.” Simple and satisfying.

“Oh, it is. And don’t worry. He has a friend—Dave, from the gym—who will be perfect for you.”

“It’s too soon to date, Kitty. I’m not over Jared.”

“This isn’t a date, Claire. This is getting laid. Bodily function…healthy release.” Her words slowed at the end because Rex had come in with the mattress across his back, looking like Atlas holding the world. All muscle…all the time. Hmm.

“I’ve got to get ready for work,” Claire said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I think I’ve got everything I need right here,” Kitty said, not taking her eyes off Rex.

In the shower, Claire wondered why she couldn’t think of sex as easy breezy as Kitty did. Why did she have to pick at it like a scab? What does it mean? Where is it going? Will we get serious? Is he the one? Why did she have to want it to be perfect?

Because when it went bad, it went very, very bad. Her mother hadn’t been the same after Claire’s dad left her for his secretary when Claire was sixteen.

Maybe that was why it was so hard for her to decide about men—she didn’t want to make a mistake. She’d thought her parents were perfect and look what had happened. Plus, she could always see both sides of a situation. Each parent blamed the other for the break up—and the bad match they’d made in the first place—and wanted Claire to side with them. She’d somehow managed to keep them both happy.

Kitty was right about sex, though. Claire should think of it as a healthy release, like jogging or doing aerobics or taking a yoga class. Exercise was good for all your muscles, right? She would at least try Kitty’s idea. Maybe with this Dave guy.

The idea sounded empty now, but after a few days of celibacy, she was sure it would appeal. She should put in some time with the Thigh Buster, just in case. A weightlifter would be fussy about the legs he tangled with.

So, she was moving forward, making decisions, being clear. Good girl, she told herself, drying off. She’d forget about Jared, get casual about sex and serious about work.

In the closet, she faced another dressing quandary. That made her think of Guitar Guy calling her outfit a getup and she smiled. What should she wear? Forget the trying-too-hard suit. How about professional separates? A plaid skirt with a navy blazer. Conservative, but not so coffee-tea-or-me.

For shoes, she needed those damned navy heels again. She slapped a couple of adhesive patches over Wednesday’s still-angry blisters—she wouldn’t let a minor injury slow her down—and headed for the kitchen.

One good thing about having Kitty as a roommate was that she added cool stuff to the kitchen—a combo coffee-espresso maker, an industrial-grade blender and gourmet food. Claire scooped a spoonful of paté out of a plastic tub Kitty had plopped into the refrigerator and ate it. Mmm. Expensive protein. She’d read somewhere that protein eased depression. Or maybe that was only turkey, not duck liver. Duck liver probably depressed you because you realized you could never afford it on your salary…sigh.

On her way out the door, Claire paused to survey the living room. Even as her heart had emptied out, her apartment was filling up. Rex had placed Kitty’s zebra-striped sofa where Jared’s commitment futon had been slated to go. And beside it was a leopard-spotted chaise with pillows shaped like lips and a glass coffee table on a black lacquer base. Propped against the wall were a couple of paintings of abstract nudes from a former lover of Kitty’s. The place was beginning to look like a singles pad. Not exactly Claire’s style, but fun. Definitely fun.

She called a farewell to Kitty, who probably had her mouth too busy to reply, and hurried outside, pleased to see the bus hadn’t arrived. Standing beside the bus bench, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, blisters throbbing slightly through the bandages, looking down Central.

“You were right.”

The liquid voice came from behind her. She turned to see Guitar Guy, wearing jeans, a snug black T-shirt and his guitar. He looked better than the other day, and when he brushed back a strand of hair, she realized it was shorter.

“You got a haircut,” she said.

“Yeah. I took your advice.” He gave her a crooked smile, then tilted his head, indicating her body. “But you didn’t take mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“The nuns make you dress like that?”

She looked down at her skirt. God. He was right. The blazer and plaid skirt did seem like a Catholic school uniform. She shrugged. “All my idea, sorry to say. Maybe I should go change….”She bit her lip.

“Don’t ever change,” he said in mock seriousness.

She laughed. “You’re just full of advice, huh?”

“That’s why I get the big bucks.”

“You’d probably make more money in Scottsdale. Lots of tourists.”

“Too snooty. I like downtown people.”

“Really?” Did he mean her?

As if in answer, he launched into the Billy Joel classic, “Just the Way You Are,” a song about not changing to please him.

He was flirting with her. She grinned. Except maybe he just wanted her to tip him. But if he was flirting, a tip might insult him. Her instincts said he liked her, but where had her instincts gotten her so far? In love with a married schmuck.

The bus arrived, saving her a decision, and she climbed the steps. While the driver looked at her pass, she glanced out the door. Guitar Guy saluted her as the bus doors shut. He liked her. And his voice stayed in her head all the way to the office.

Inside B&V, Georgia and Mimi stood at the receptionist desk. “So let him think you’re a lesbian,” Georgia was saying. “Men love lesbians. They want to convert you. Plus, they think they have to be re-e-ally good at oral sex.”

Mimi looked unconvinced. They both looked up at Claire.

“Well, lookie here,” Georgia said, leaning over the reception counter. “Muffy’s stopped in on the way to her tennis match.”

“Oh, for cripe’s sake,” Claire said. “I give up.” Catholic school or prep school—either way it was a bust. Despite what Guitar Guy had said, she should have changed clothes.

“Mr. Tires called again. He thinks the radial in the ad looks like a glazed doughnut.”

“Great.” The man spent no money on his tiny newspaper ads, but he wanted new creative every week. Small flippin’ potatoes. She saw that Mimi held a folder with Ryan Ames’s name on it.

“I’ll take that to him,” she said, tugging it from Mimi’s fingers. She needed to schedule their first mentor meeting anyway—her first step up the career ladder.

At Ryan’s office, she saw through his glass door he was reading the paper. She tapped. He frowned at the interruption, but when he saw it was her, smiled.

“Hi,” she said, entering. She handed him the folder.

“Thanks.” He smiled again. A big smile. A too-big smile. A definite man-woman smile. “So, how’s my mentee doing so far?”

“Just great.” Well, except for that broken heart, ruined life thing. “I was hoping we could get started on some strategy for me,” she said. “Maybe over lunch. I’ll buy.” Paying for lunch was a power move, she’d read.

“You’ll buy, huh?” Isn’t that cute? his smile said. “For now, why don’t you have a seat and we can get to know each other better.” He patted the chair kitty-corner to his desk, tugging it closer to him.

Oh, ish. Claire sat delicately on the edge of the chair, then pushed it back a couple feet.

“You settled?” he said, resting his hand on her arm as if to steady her. Gross. The man was hitting on her.

“I’m fine.”

“So, tell me about yourself,” Ryan said, leaning forward.

She pushed back a bit farther. “There’s not much to tell except I want to get ahead here.” She would make sure he knew she wasn’t interested in putting in any couch time to get there. “I want to prove myself through my work, of course. On my own merit. But I hope you can advise me where to concentrate my efforts. My work efforts.” That couldn’t be more clear.

“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling. “We can talk all about that over lunch. How do you stay in such good shape?”

“How do I…?” Blech, puke, retch. She had to nip this in the bud. “Tae Kwan Do,” she blurted. “Black belt, with a specialty in self-defense.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan’s brow lifted in surprise.

“Absolutely. I can make a guy walk lopsided for the rest of his life.”

“Well. That’s impressive. I guess I know who to take with me when I cross a dark parking lot at night.” He seemed to find her amusing, not life-threatening.

“So, how about we start with your top ten tips at lunch?” she said.

“Sure. Sounds good,” he said, smiling. “But I’ve got the first tip for you right now?”

“Really? What is it?” This was a good sign.

“Quit dressing weird. You look like a hooker dressed as a schoolgirl.”

“Check,” she said, pretending to make a mark on a pad. Yet another fashion expert had weighed in on her style statement. “So, I’ll meet you out front at noon for lunch and more tips?”

“Sounds good,” he said, his words tinged with man-woman energy, despite her hint that she could cripple him. Why did everything have to be more complicated than it seemed?

3

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Claire was in the kitchen eating granola and staring morosely at Jared’s false-promise roses, while Kitty and Rex did Tae-Bo in the living room, when Mitch the doorman called up to say she had a delivery downstairs.

She figured it must be an apartment-warming gift from her mother, but when she stepped out of the elevator, she stopped dead in pure shock.

There in the middle of the lobby sat Jared on a cream-canvas futon. “Ta-da!” he said, gesturing at its puffy expanse. “Perfect, huh?” He beamed at her with that sweet, boyish look he had—sometimes charming, sometimes annoying. Right now it was both. “Come try it out.” He held out his arms to her.

For just a second, she was tempted to comply, but this was one gift horse—rather, rat—she had to look straight in the mouth. She wasn’t about to hug him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Moving in, of course. Here’s the futon and here are my clothes,” he said, indicating two big roller suitcases, as if that proved his intentions were good.

“What about your wife? Did you talk to her about us?”

Jared’s eyes flicked away from her face for a second, telling her all she needed to know. “I told her I had concerns.”

“Concerns? Jared, I want a divorce is way more than concerns.”

“Important things take time, Claire. Everything’s not black-and-white like you always want. At least I’m here and I can move in.”

“No, you can’t. I already have a roommate.” A roommate who was probably doing the deed right now in what would have been Jared’s office.

“How did you get a roommate in three days?”

“Kitty’s got moving down to a science.”

“But what about me?” He seemed completely confused.

“You snooze, you lose. I can’t afford this place by myself. You were out, so Kitty was in.”

“I told you I wanted to work this out. How could you?” He let his head fall back against the futon, looking crushed. The weak part of her wanted to run upstairs and say, “Everybody out. Back to plan A.” But no way could she fold. Jared had a lot of promises to make and keep before she would take him back.

After a few seconds of sad sighs, Jared sat up. “You’re right. I deserve this. I have to prove myself to you. I’ll get another couple months at the company digs.” He smiled sadly, his eyes saying, Kiss me. I’ve earned it.

For a second, he morphed from cheating bastard to repentant boyfriend, but she fought the urge to fall into his arms and forgive him. “Just tell your wife, Jared. We can’t be together until you do.”

“Why do you have to be so extreme?” he said.

“Insisting my boyfriend is single is extreme?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to do about the futon?”

“I’ll help you load it into your truck.”

“We could put it in the apartment…kind of a down payment on our future,” he said hopefully. “What about that?”

She liked the futon so much better than Kitty’s seduction sofa…. “No good,” she said firmly, bending to heft one end. If she gave Jared an inch—or a futon—he’d take a mile. And her heart already wore his cross-trainer treads.

THREE DAYS LATER, Claire walked home from Game Night—they’d held it on Tuesday because Barry and Emily had a Valentine’s Day date on Wednesday. It was a perfect February night—not quite chilly. Central Avenue was subdued and the air was filled with the scent of early citrus blossoms—like lilac and gardenia combined—but Claire’s thoughts were far away….

…In Reno, where, at this moment, Jared was telling Lindi-with-an-i that he wanted a divorce. Supposedly. Then tomorrow, he would fly here and transform Valentine’s Day from her suckiest holiday to the most romantic one. In theory. Jared was turning around his entire life just to be with her.

Except he’d sounded kinda faint the last time they’d talked. The Chickateers hadn’t been hopeful, either. He’ll weasel out, Emily had said, but you stick to your guns. Kitty kept talking about Rex’s friend Dave—he’ll make you forget Jared…and your own name.

And Zoe advised her to listen to her heart, of course. Zoe’s boyfriend Brad was insisting she learn to rock climb, which she was scared to do. Kitty had decided to go with her to the class to make sure “Indiana Brad”—Kitty’s new nickname for the guy—didn’t push Zoe too far.

Now, as Claire approached her corner, her attention was drawn by the sound of bluesy chords on the breeze. She squinted and made out someone sitting on the wide stone banister on her building’s stairs. She got closer and saw that it was Guitar Guy. Her heart thudded in her chest. The streetlight spilled over him, dramatic and bold, sending a romantic shadow from his long body.

She realized she was walking faster.

Guitar Guy looked up, saw her and smiled. “You figure it out?” he asked, still playing.

“What? My wardrobe?” She wore a tailored white blouse with a black denim skirt. Until she could afford serious career clothes, she was at least sticking with conservative colors.

He shook his head, holding her gaze. “Whatever’s been bothering you.” His guitar work became a sound-track, making it feel natural to chitchat with a stranger in the night.

“More or less.” Of course not. She had no idea what to do about Jared. But she wasn’t about to let on to Guitar Guy…who was very cute, especially with his hair cut. Kind of a young George Clooney. Dark and brooding with the kind of secret half smile that made you want to be the only one who could coax it into a full one. The streetlight gave his skin a coppery glow and his teeth seemed very white.

She wondered if he talked to all the people who came out of the building or if it was just women…or just her. “I’m Claire,” she said finally.

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you are…?”Don’t make me work so hard.

“Trip.”

“Excuse me?” She’d had a little wine, but she wasn’t unsteady, for God’s sake.

“That’s my name. Trip.”

“Oh,” she laughed. “That’s unusual. Because you like to travel?” She hoped it wasn’t because of some drug thing.

“In a way.”

Evasive. Maybe it was a drug thing. “You play very well.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you live around here?”

“For now. In a guest house a couple miles away.”

He wasn’t homeless, at least. “Guest houses are nice—cozy and efficient, with everything you need in a small space and at a small price.” Stop babbling, you dolt. But she couldn’t. Conversational gaps were like a broken filling to her. She couldn’t leave them alone. “That is one great haircut,” she said to keep things moving.

His gaze locked on, silver and strong, looking right into her. “And you look nice without your uniform.”

“Thanks.” A blush washed over her. His words and the warmth in his expression had pulled a blanket of intimacy around them on this very public corner on this major city street.

“My pleasure.”

His pleasure. A blade of desire cut through her like a Ginsu knife. Wow. She was flirting with a street musician. And it was good.

Real good.

“Well, nice talking to you,” he said, gently telling her goodbye. But they’d barely started.

“Yeah. You, too,” she said, unable to move her feet for a few long seconds. But that was uncool, so she forced herself up the wide stairs.

“You already know the answer.”

She wasn’t quite sure the voice hadn’t been inside her head, so she turned and looked down at Trip. The light made him seem ghostly as a dream. “The answer?”

“To the question you’re asking yourself.”

It was just a throwaway line, but it shot through her like a flare, illuminating her fuzzy thinking, and she felt…better. Calm and almost confident about the Jared situation. Or maybe about something else entirely…. “I hope you’re right,” she said, and headed upstairs, his music wrapping around her like a caress.

From her apartment, Claire looked out her window for Trip, but he was gone. Completely. No tall shape strolling away or in the distance. Nothing. Not even a shadow. It was as if she’d just imagined him. Her confident feeling wisped away like smoke on a breeze.

THE NEXT DAY, Claire used her lunch hour to spend too much money on a black-lace teddy, a red silk sheath and a bottle of champagne. She was thinking positive about tonight with Jared, though doubts stabbed her.

Her shopping trip meant she hadn’t been able to join Mimi and Georgia for lunch with Kyle Carson, an accountant who worked on the books of a company on the same floor as B&V. He was also one of Mimi’s neighbors, and whenever he was in the office he would drive the three of them someplace for a nice lunch.

Kyle was good-looking and friendly and kind, and Mimi and Georgia liked to shock him with outrageous tales of their nightlife. Kyle had a live-in girlfriend, though he rarely talked about her. He’d seemed quite disappointed when Claire had said she was busy.

At the end of the day, she grabbed her shopping bag of sex appeal, removed the champagne from the B&V fridge and took the bus home.

Inside her apartment, she was startled to find Rex, Kitty’s bodybuilder beau, stretched out on the sofa in black bikini underwear, looking like a model for a Campus Hotties calendar, with one of Jared’s wilted roses between his teeth.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said around the rose stem, then took it out. Shriveled petals fell to the floor. “I thought you were Kitty.”

“Sorry. Just me,” she said.

“No prob.” He didn’t move, except to twirl the rose stem between his thumb and forefinger. More petals dropped. She slid her gaze away from the bulge in his undies and noticed her Waterford candy dish in pieces on the cocktail table.

“Had a little collision with that bowl,” Rex said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said on a sigh. She’d known having Kitty as a roommate wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but she hadn’t expected to suffer glassware losses or be favored by male centerfold shots.

She headed to her room to shower and change into her teddy and red dress, and by the time she emerged, Kitty and Rex had taken off. Claire checked her watch. Jared would be landing at Sky Harbor right about now. She turned on some mood music, lit candles and sat down to wait.

And wait.

When he was an hour late, she called his cell number. Voice mail. “Just me, Jared. Was your flight delayed?”

She turned on an old I Love Lucy episode and heated up some of Kitty’s chicken almandine leftovers. After a second madcap episode, she cracked the champagne and called again. “Where the hell are you?”

Two glasses of champagne and one blotch of paté on the carpet later, she said, “You bastard. You’re not fit to…wash my windows.” That was lame, but she couldn’t think of the right insult—nothing too vulgar or emotionally revealing.

At ten o’clock, the phone rang. The person on the line struggled for breath. Perfect. An obscene phone call. She was about to hang up, when the voice whispered, “I couldn’t do it, Claire. I’m so sorry.” Jared.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing she’d hate the answer.