That’s why this battle mattered to her.
She headed in the direction of Henry and Marquita’s clubs. For a sliver of a second, she hoped she’d see Conroy, or maybe even his campaign manager, slipping out through the black unmarked door, furtively glancing side to side, trying desperately not to get caught having indulged in that particular predilection on a Saturday afternoon.
She laughed privately at that image. How fitting would that be? Also, how convenient. Life didn’t work that way. She wasn’t going to catch Conroy with his pants down and a whip in his hand. No, that’d be too easy. That’d be the answer out of a TV script. Not real life.
As she walked away, she spotted a campaign flyer resting atop a trashcan. For a better Upper East Side. She stuck out her tongue at it, but then as she boarded a subway to head to her downtown apartment, an idea sparked.
This guy was all about the marketing. Maybe she couldn’t dig up the dirt, but she could go toe to toe with anyone when it came to marketing.
* * *
“Are you sure I can’t interest you two in a Long-Distance Lover?”
Julia directed the question to Michelle’s brother and his wife, Jill.
“Because I’ll need it to get through the next few weeks?” Davis asked.
“Of course. Think of it as sublimation for when your wife leaves town for a month,” Julia said, that familiar playful tone in her voice as she handed him a scotch.
Michelle was at Speakeasy, the bar in midtown that Julia was part-owner of. Michelle didn’t come around here too often, but her brother had asked her to join in a send-off round of drinks for Jill on Saturday afternoon. She was headed to London to rehearse for a limited run in a production of A Streetcar Named Desire, and Davis was staying behind to finish up his work directing a new Broadway show.
“If a drink can get me through that, I’ll take ten,” he said, then planted a long and lingering kiss on Jill’s lips.
“Make that a double for me,” Jill said when he pulled apart.
“The drink or the kiss?” Michelle asked, doing her best to fit in and be a part of the celebration. That task was all the more challenging since Clay was there too, looking as handsome as ever. He had on his Saturday attire—jeans, a button-down shirt, and an unshaven jaw. She winced, some part of her hurting for knowing these details, especially since his eyes were on Julia the whole time as she mixed another one of her signature cocktails for him. Michelle could still remember the night Julia first whipped up the Long-Distance Lover here at Speakeasy before it opened, during a late-night poker game. That was back before Julia had moved to New York from San Francisco, back when Michelle was dating Liam, back when she was still madly in love with Clay.
He hadn’t even known how she felt about him. Julia had been the one to figure it out. That had made it all the more embarrassing.
Julia set down the drink for him, whispered something in his ear, then laughed, and gave the drink to Jill instead, who promptly declared it delicious.
“And what will you be serving me tonight?” Clay asked his wife.
She leaned in closer, and mouthed the word myself.
He raised an eyebrow appreciatively. “My favorite drink.”
“But for now, a scotch,” she said and poured the amber liquid in a glass for her husband.
Michelle waited for that familiar stabbing pain that came from watching them and their innuendo. A wince inside. An ache in her chest that hurt. But none of those feelings arrived on the scene. She felt nothing at all. Thankfully. That realization—of the lack of pain their interaction caused—was a rather lovely one.
Julia turned to Michelle, holding up the bottle in question. “Scotch for you, Michelle?”
“That’d be great,” she said. Julia remembered her favorite drink too. She shouldn’t be surprised. The woman was a bartender. It was her job to remember drinks. Still, Michelle was touched.
Julia handed her the drink, and said in a voice just for her, “I’m glad you’re here. And incidentally, you have some kind of glow about you, so if you’re using some new moisturizer, I need to know what it is. Your skin looks gorgeous.”
Michelle smiled, then blushed. “Thank you,” she said, and even though she hadn’t seen Jack yet today, she knew exactly what Julia was referring to. Sex—great sex—was good for the complexion.
As she took her first drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch, she pictured Jack here with her. Would he fit in with her brother and his wife, with Clay and Julia? Would she even want him to? They’d only spent time alone together, never with anyone else. Their relationship—if you could even call it that—existed in a bubble of privacy and secrets. Of nights together and days apart. Would they even play well together with friends? With family? What did he wear on a Saturday afternoon? She imagined Jack sitting casually on the stool next to her, looking sexy as sin in a pullover shirt that showed off the slightest bit of his strong arms and jeans that fit him delectably. He’d drape an arm around her, unable to resist touching her, because he was like that. He’d chat with her brother about the theater and musical composers, he’d talk with Clay about his latest deal, he’d ask Jill if she’d always wanted to play Blanche, he’d ask Julia for a drink recommendation, and then he’d happily take what she served, his eyes on Michelle the entire time.
He’d fit in, she decided, and he’d be with her. Only her.
As she looked at her friends, she could see him there—part of the crew, but yet entirely hers.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.
J: How’s your Saturday? Are you having a good day?
M: Great. Just hanging out with friends and family, having a drink.
J: Enjoy yourself, beautiful. Missing you. Will I see you soon?
M: Yes. Very soon.
She tucked her phone back into her purse.
“What have you been up to lately?” Jill asked her. “We haven’t seen you around much.”
The corner of Michelle’s lips quirked up, but she tried to rein in her secret grin. “Oh, this and that,” she said, and then the conversation turned again to London, and to Jill’s show, and that was fine with Michelle as she listened to them chat.
When her eyes landed briefly on Clay, she saw him anew. She saw him as he was when she’d first met him. A friend. While she could certainly recognize he was good-looking, empirically so, he was no longer the man she pined after. She was seeing him, but she wasn’t seeing only him anymore.