Big Rock(7)

He sighs in delight as a cab swoops along the road. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

He should hire me to write his ads. That was money.

“But no, I don’t have a ring,” I say, then I wink. “Would you happen to know somewhere that I could get one right away?”

He strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Ah, I just might know the place.” He laughs at his own cleverness and clasps my arm. “Come by at two, and Nina will hook you up with a beautiful stone and setting. You can’t be engaged without a ring from Katharine’s.”

“Truer words…”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Charlotte’s ringtone—the Darth Vader entrance march. She picked it herself as a joke.

“Charlotte,” I say to my dad as I gesture to the phone.

“Maybe change that now that she’s going to be your wife,” my dad suggests. Then he points at me, a smile on his face. “Hey! That was my first official piece of advice to you as a soon-to-be-married man.”

A momentary spate of nerves lodges in my chest. What if Charlotte won’t go along with the plan? What if she laughs at me—as she f*cking should—and tells me this is the craziest idea in the world, and no way is she going to do it?

I tell myself not to panic prematurely. This is what friends do for each other. They pretend they’re going to marry you when you need them to. Right?

The ringtone sounds again. Vader is marching closer.

“You should answer it now. Women like that,” my dad says. “Hey. That’s my second great piece of advice.”

I steel myself, slide my thumb across the screen and go into character. “Good morning to my beautiful bride-to-be,” I say in a smooth, romantic voice.

She cracks up. “Why are we playing so early? Don’t tell me you started hitting the sauce on a Friday morning? Are you drunk off your ass already, Spence?”

“I’m just drunk on you. Where are you right now?”

“Just talked with one of our suppliers. Got us an even better deal, thank you very much. Nachos are on you next time. But why are you acting like a lovesick weirdo?”

“Well, sweetheart,” I say, meeting eyes with my dad, who gives me a thumbs up as I lay it on thick for his benefit, “I’ll come see you shortly, and you can tell me all about it in person.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “But the deal is good, so I don’t have to give you the play-by-play in person, or even on the phone. I need to go jump in the shower anyway. And no, don’t say it. I’m not literally going to jump in the shower.”

I laugh. “Of course. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I can’t wait to see you, too.”

I almost say pookie before I end the call, but then I’d have to relinquish my balls to the Guys’ Committee. I like my balls. I’m rather attached to them.

I end the call before she can protest and then give my dad a knowing look. “The woman needs me.”

My dad waggles his eyebrows. “You must heed the call.” He rubs his hands together. “This is the best news ever. I couldn’t be happier. I’ve always liked Charlotte.”

And I couldn’t feel any guiltier. I rarely lied to my dad as a kid. I’m pretty sure I’ve never done it as an adult. The morsels of guilt zipping around inside are new to me, and they’re kind of crummy. But it’ll be worth it. The deal memo’s done; the contract will be inked in a matter of days. This little lie will help the transition go smoothly.

He grabs me in a big embrace. “Call your mother later. She’ll want to hear it all from you.”

“I’ll give her all the mushy details,” I say, wincing inside as I prep to lie to Mom as well.

I catch a cab to Charlotte’s. Along the way I text Nick to cancel. Family stuff this weekend. Gotta bail tomorrow. We’ll celebrate another time?

It’ll take him hours to reply. Nick is the rare breed of modern man, sometimes spotted in the wild without a screen in his face. He’s a pen and paper kind of guy, due in no small part to him being a world-class cartoonist.

As the yellow car zips along Lexington Avenue, I look up Bang Her, the hot bartender, then fire off a quick text: Sorry, babe. Something came up, and I need to see the fam. Another time.

Her reply arrives thirty seconds later. You have an open invitation with me. :)

Those are two of my favorite words—open invitation.

But she’s not the one I’m thinking of when I arrive in Murray Hill. It’s the woman behind a massive bouquet of…balloons?





CHAPTER FIVE


Easily, there are three dozen of those suckers. All the size of Martian heads, in every shade of pastel known to HGTV.

A centerpiece balloon rises in the middle, higher and prouder than the rest. That one is the lone bright shade. It’s blood red, and I think it’s supposed to be shaped like a heart, but it looks like a big butt to me.

I hand the cabbie a twenty, telling him to keep the change, and shut the door behind me as he screeches off in search of the next fare.

I can’t even see her face. Or her chest. Or her waist. The top half of her is entirely obscured by balloons, but I’d recognize those legs anywhere. Charlotte ran track in high school, and has strong, toned legs with muscular calves that look like sin come to life when she wears high heels. Come to think of it, they’re f*ck-hot right now in white socks and sneakers. She must have been out for her morning run earlier today.