Surfside Sisters(56)
Worried and frustrated, she let herself into her apartment. She stayed under a hot shower, letting her mind wander free, but once she was wrapped in a towel with another towel for a turban, inspiration wasn’t there.
She glanced at her phone. A missed call from Gray. A voicemail from Fiona, reminding her they were meeting for lunch. Good. She needed to talk with someone, and Fiona had become a good friend as well as an agent, and she knew just how much to tell Keely about her editor’s opinions.
Outside, the spring day was gray, with rain clouds darkening the sky. At home, she would wear a crimson sweater or a turquoise shirt, something to brighten her world. But here in New York most people, the chic and savvy, wore black, with shades of gray. Keely was used to fresh salty air sweeping over the island from all the way across the Atlantic or up from the Caribbean. But she was a New Yorker now, and she had no plans to return to Nantucket, no matter how much her heart yearned.
She pulled a dark tunic off her clothing rack, added black tights and knee-high black boots and brushed her long brown hair. Dangling silver earrings, mascara on her eyelashes to accentuate her topaz eyes, a touch of lipstick, and she was good to go. She looked sleek and slim and when she slipped on her sunglasses, she looked almost fabulous.
She slung her Hermès knockoff bag over her shoulder, checked her image in the mirror—she’d fit right in with the crowd—and headed out, being sure to lock the three thousand locks in her door before clattering down the four flights of stairs.
It took her a moment to break into the mass of pedestrians rushing up and down the street. She’d been certain that by now, after living in New York as long as she had, she’d be used to the pace and the noise and the crowds, but still, every time she walked, her mind flashed with memories of the brick sidewalks of Nantucket, humped and crooked from the roots of the grand shade trees, forcing people to slow down, pay attention, be there now. Now the window boxes would be spilling with flowers and the sidewalks crowded as friends met up after the long winter.
Keely missed her mother and her home and the golden beaches and the damn warped sidewalks of Nantucket, but she was here now, and why was she thinking about Nantucket so much this morning? She was a published author in the greatest city in the world on her way to meet her friend/agent!
She glanced in the storefront windows as she passed. Wow. She looked really good. She looked like she belonged in this amazing city. She even kind of looked like Kate Middleton if she cocked her head so that her long hair fell over her shoulder.
She admired herself so much she walked right into a man who was absorbed in his cellphone. They both muttered “excuse me” and Keely laughed out loud as she hurried along the sidewalk toward her lunch date.
It felt so good to laugh! She had to admit she was kind of worried, actually massively terrified, about her third novel. Rich Girl had made her a nice chunk of money. The pre-orders for Poor Girl were exciting. She hoped this glitch with Sun Music wouldn’t put an end to her writing career.
Fiona was waiting in the foyer of Balthazar. They air-kissed hello and followed the ma?tre d’ to their booth. They both loved this place for its booths—they could talk in privacy.
“So,” Fiona said. “Tell me everything.”
Keely preened ostentatiously. “That might take a long time…”
Fiona squinted her eyes at Keely. After a moment she said, “You did not.”
Keely laughed. “I did.”
“You had sex with Gray Anderpohl?”
“I did,” Keely repeated, grinning.
“Waiter,” Fiona called, and the handsome dark man turned toward her. “Strike the order for wine. We want a bottle of champagne.” She rested her arm on the table and tucked her chin into her hand. “Go.”
“It was last night. At his house. He made beef Wellington—”
“I don’t really want the details of your dinner. Get to the good stuff.”
“Hang on, that’s the way we got to the good stuff. I mean I was impressed that he made such a complicated dish, and I asked him if he was trying to seduce me…and he was. After dinner, we went to bed together.”
“How was it? On a scale from one to ten.”
“Don’t be gross.” Keely busied herself with her napkin, and the waiter arrived with their flutes and the bucket of ice. He made a small performance of popping the cork of the champagne bottle, and when he was done and had gone away, Keely said, “I stayed all night with him.”
“Wow. He must be serious about you. I’ve heard stories about him. He’s kind of an odd duck, Keely.”
“So am I.”
“From what I’ve heard from other women, he puts his work first, always, completely. Relationships come next.”
“That’s fine with me. I have my work, too. And I have fun with him, Fiona. I’ve seen so much of this fabulous city because of him. I’ve learned so much. I’ve been to operas and ballets at Lincoln Center. He’s taken me to dinner at Buvette and Saint Ambroeus in the West Village. Jennifer Aniston goes there—”
“Do you have any idea how superficial you sound?”
Keely recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “What?”
“And it shows in your new book. The chapters you sent to Sally. I read them. The magic is gone, and now I know why.”