The Cocktail Collection Read online

  “Yep, should be interesting.”

  “If you girls can behave yourselves,” he teased.

  We cruised. He yawned.

  “How’s the ninth looking for you?” he asked suddenly.

  “The ninth?”

  “Of December. The reunion? You still want to go with me?”

  “I do. Bring on the cheesesteaks!” I smiled, resting my hand on his leg and making little circles there.

  “Sugar,” he quipped.

  “Sleep,” I insisted, as he gave me a look that said he was a man intent on getting some sugar.

  But this woman knew better, and I made sure to take a little longer than normal in the bathroom. I didn’t need to exfoliate, but I did. I didn’t need to condition my hair twice, but I did. When I finally came out, my Wallbanger was dead to the world and telling everyone about it with his snores. Next to him? Clive. Making the most ridiculous little kitty snores.

  I slipped under the covers and burrowed into Simon’s nook. Some nights, that was my sugar.

  • • •

  As soon as I was up, I left the city and headed over to the Sausalito house. I let Simon sleep in, allowing me some time to walk through the hotel alone. Sometimes it was easier to check on projects when there was no one else there. I could explore the space with my notebook and camera, taking pictures and generally getting a feel for how things were going.

  The hotel was going to be beautiful. Still just a shell, but I could see what it was going to be. And as shells took shape, sometimes the design dictated a change to the original plans. Maybe a new palette suggested itself, or certain lines weren’t as strong in real life as they were on paper. It wasn’t second-guessing, it was adapting. And I missed my Master Adapter.

  Jillian had the best eye for detail of any designer I’d ever worked with. And she was great at helping me solidify my vision, boosting my confidence; she was my gut check. My sounding board. So as I walked the plank flooring, I wished she was there. I did projects by myself all the time, but she was always in the wings, propping me up when I needed it. I had to prop myself up this time.

  I’d never seriously considered having my own design firm. Of course every young designer thinks about it, some even dream about it—but that wasn’t me. So much work, so much risk, taken on solely. Your name, your failure.

  I’d literally lucked into a dream when Jillian hired me after my internship. I followed her around like a puppy my first few weeks, soaking it all up, taking it all in. I sat in her office, marveling over how she managed it all. She was always calm under pressure, always the cucumber when everything else was jalapeños. She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. I just never thought I’d get there.

  Jillian didn’t come from money; she’d worked for every penny she had. She’d left a successful position at a very high profile design firm in the city, and invested everything in her own tiny shop in the Castro. The stories I’d heard from some of her long-term clients were legendary. Receiving tile shipments at midnight, dog walking for her toniest clients, installing lighting fixtures twenty feet in the air when an electrician didn’t show—you name it, she’d done it.

  And from her own stories, she taught me how to barter and how to haggle, how to get the best discounts, how to school a contractor who thought he was going to get one over on a female project lead, and how to deal with clients who were complete and total assholes. And there were a lot of them.

  She’d made a name for herself, scratching and clawing her way to a highly successful business while looking like she’d just rolled off a runway in Milan.

  She did it all.

  Was I doing it all? I knew I was a good designer, but I’d never be a Jillian. I could wear her shoes for a little while, though.

  I took my pictures, made my notes, and hiked back up the hill to the house. It was close enough to the main drag that I’d taken to walking into town when the mood struck. I usually walked most nights that I was there, sometimes to look at the hotel, yes, but sometimes to just explore the neighborhoods. Hidden pathways, rounded garden doors, high hedges and last summer’s hollyhocks . . . It was a little magical.

  When I rounded the street corner, I was thrilled by the sight of a black Range Rover parked outside. Simon was awake and on this side of the bay. With a secret smile, I hurried inside.

  • • •

  As I brushed out my hair that night, I realized that it was the first time in almost two weeks that it wasn’t piled on top of my head in a bun held together with colored pencils. Simon was now working at the dining room table, checking all of his shots on his laptop. I passed by on my way to the kitchen, and was stopped by a hand on my ass.

  “Hi?”

  “Hi,” he answered, his eyes still on the computer.

  “You need something?”

  “Always,” he answered, maneuvering my ass so it was on his lap.

  “Not always; you were sleeping earlier,” I pouted.

  “I’m not sleeping now.”

  “I’ve got turnovers.”

  “I already like where this is going,” he murmured, his hands tightening around my waist.

  “No no, I mean I have turnovers that I need to put in the oven.”

  “Wait, those are like tiny pies, right?”

  “Yes, Simon, they’re like tiny pies.”

  “Apple?”

  “Cherry.”

  “Have mercy.”

  “You know what it does to me when you go Uncle Jesse on me.”

  His eyes widened, and something else hardened. “I do indeed.”

  Kissed me fierce, he did, and while I did my best to remind him of my turnovers, he did his best to make me forget. And I did, until the doorbell rang.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, releasing me.

  “Saved by the bell,” I sang out, rising off his lap.

  “You know what it does to me when you go Kelly Kapowski on me.”

  “I do indeed. And if you’re a good boy tonight, I’ll give you my own special Bayside cheer later on.” I winked and danced away from his grabby hands. “Now go do something with that,” I instructed, pointing at his enthusiasm.

  He strutted away, and I headed to the front door. I could see Ryan through the glass, but no Mimi.

  “Hey, where’s your girl?” I asked, but then heard a wheeeeee coming from up above.

  “She’s ridden it twice already,” he replied, rolling his eyes but smiling at his girlfriend as she came down the hill in the hillevator, peeking over the side.

  “That will never get old. I love this thing,” she announced when she got to the bottom, opening the door and climbing out. She had a basket full of treats and an armful of board games, which Ryan hurried to assist with. “See, this thing is actually useful.”

  “Well, it’s not just a carnival ride, no.” I laughed, grabbing a bag as well. “Good lord, how many games did you bring?”

  “I thought it would be best to plan for any and all hiccups tonight. And speaking of hiccups, I brought plenty of booze,” she stated, nodding to the box from the liquor store.

  “Sure, because what goes better with tension than alcohol?” I snorted, catching Ryan’s eye.

  “I tried to tell her,” he said under his breath.

  “I heard that,” she sang out as she trotted into the house.

  “I meant you to,” he sang back. “ ’Sup?” He nodded to Simon, who had parked himself behind a wing chair.

  I chuckled to myself at his technique for hiding his enthusiasm. I winked at him, feeling a thrill rumble through me when he looked at me with those heavy lidded eyes. Damn, that man got to me.

  I led Mimi into the kitchen, letting her set up the bar while I finally got the turnovers into the oven.

  We chatted while we put together snacks for the evening. Since I didn’t have the time I used to, it nearly killed me to get the turnovers together in time. But taking a page from the Barefoot Contessa, I managed to put together a respectable spread. I arranged several cheeses fro
m a local shop, including a runny Brie and a stinky Stilton, some French bread, and little bowls of spicy almonds and salty olives. Slices of salami, capicola, pepperoni, and mortadella covered another wooden board, along with bowls of marinated artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers. A few containers of garlicky hummus and pillowy pita completed the nosh. I finished up just as Mimi was putting the final touches on her drink stations.

  “Whiskey sours, martinis, and look! Wallbangers!” she cried, setting out a bottle of Galliano just as Simon and Ryan came in to join us.

  “Perfect. Caroline was just saying before you two got here that she was dying for some more of me,” he teased, making me blush as the timer went off on my turnovers.

  “Mix yourself up there, Simon,” I said over my shoulder, pulling the flaky triangles from the oven. The look he gave me told me I would indeed be getting turned over later on that night. You wouldn’t catch me complaining.

  Just as Simon handed me a drink, we heard the doorbell.

  “Showtime,” Mimi mumbled, heading off to the door. It was Sophia, with the tallest man I’d ever seen. But not just tall, he was crazy good looking. He was like NBA meets surfer.

  “Why, hello there!” I said, looking up and up. “I’m Caroline.”

  “Hey,” he said down to me in a voice that was incredibly deep. “Zach.”

  He shuffled off to shake hands with the guys as I took Sophia’s coat.

  “When I say that’s a tall drink of water, I’m not exaggerating,” I whispered to her, checking him out as he towered over Ryan and Simon, neither of whom were short.

  “Thanks. He plays basketball in France; he’s home for the holidays. I met him at the gym.”

  “Damn, I need to switch to your gym. The cute boy quotient is considerably higher than mine,” I replied, hanging up her coat.

  She scanned the room, breathing a little easier when she saw that Neil wasn’t there. “Can I help with anything?”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Like right now, can I help with anything? How about I make sure the bars okay,” she said, heels clicking across the floor as she grabbed Tall Zach and pulled him toward the alcohol.

  Simon walked over to me, reaching around me to open the door for the only friend who hadn’t yet arrived.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” Neil said, handing Simon a bottle of scotch. “Caroline, thanks for inviting me,” he added, sneaking a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

  “Hi, Neil,” I managed, trying to remember that this was Simon’s friend and I was making an effort. I had to really make an effort when I got an eyeful of who he brought with him.

  I can’t say for sure that she’d ever appeared in Playboy. But if she hadn’t, she should have.

  “Hi! I’m Missy,” she said, and I smiled at Neil through clenched teeth. I could tell it was putting Simon in physical pain not to laugh.

  “Hi there, Missy,” I managed. “Let me take your coat, Missy.”

  “Wow, look at all those windows!” She giggled as I led them inside.

  I knew how much a window wall that size cost to install, and I wondered how much it would cost to repair . . .

  chapter ten

  “Airplane. Airplane people. Airplane holding a sponge.”

  “Airplane with hands, hands? Okay, hands. Airplane hands. Sponge hands.”

  “Sponge hands! Airplane sponge. Bird sponge. Bird! Okay, bird. Hand bird.”

  “SpongeBob HandBird. Stop pointing at the airplane, we know it’s not an airplane!”

  “Time’s up.”

  “Dammit!”

  Sophia sat down in a huff, throwing her Sharpie across the room. Neil stuck his hand straight up in the air and caught it as she huffed, “I can’t believe you guys couldn’t get that! It was so obvious that it was—”

  “Ah-ah-ah, don’t say another word. We get a chance to steal,” Simon said from his place on the couch.

  It was girls against guys, and the guys were currently kicking our ass. They were up forty points. Stupid boys.

  “Go ahead, you’ll never get it. Don’t worry, they’ll never get it,” Sophia assured us, sipping her cocktail and winking at Zach over the rim.

  “Now just give us a minute. We have thirty seconds to examine the picture and see if we can guess what you were trying to draw,” Ryan said, standing up and going over to the board where Sophia had been drawing.

  “We know how the game is played!” Mimi yelled from her perch on the back of the couch. She was Drunky Mimi tonight; her cocktail station had served her well. And overserved her—she was Loud Drunky Mimi. “You don’t have to say that each time you try to steal!”

  As Simon and Ryan puzzled over the drawing while Mimi counted down from thirty, Zach flirted with Sophia. And by flirting, I mean licked the rim of his glass. All the way around. He looked like a giraffe.

  Shuddering, I looked at Sophia, who wasn’t even watching. She was watching Neil, who was watching Missy, who was adjusting her bra. I knew this because it was hanging half out of her shirt.

  Ryan and Simon continued to argue over the picture while Zach giraffed, and I just held my head. Disaster.

  “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” Mimi shouted, staring at her watch.

  “It’s not New Year’s—just give us a few more seconds, we can get this!” Ryan shouted back, looking back and forth from the picture to Simon.

  “Shit, I don’t know, is it, is it—shit!” Simon yelled, bouncing from one foot to the other.

  “Six! Five! Four! Three!” Mimi continued. Missy crossed her legs. Neil stared at her legs. Zach burped, but continued licking. Sophia steamed.

  “Two!”

  “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” Neil stated, his gaze on Sophia.

  “One! Ha, you didn’t— Wait, what?” Mimi asked, looking at Neil, then Sophia. Simon and Ryan looked hopeful.

  Silence.

  “That’s right.” Sophia scowled, wincing when Simon and Ryan erupted into cheers.

  “No way, no way! No fair, I had almost said one! I had almost said one!” Mimi cried, jumping across the room and landing on Ryan’s back, pummeling him with her fists. Zach burped again. Missy took her hair out of her ponytail, and everyone with a penis stopped to watch.

  “That’s it,” Sophia snapped, and stormed into the kitchen.

  “I’m calling time-out!” I yelled as I left the room to follow her.

  “Time-out from what?” Zach asked, and I just shook my head.

  Sophia was angrily taking things out of the fridge, then putting them back again. “I can’t believe he got that!”

  “I can’t believe we didn’t. How embarrassing!” I answered, holding the fridge door open for her as a rotisserie chicken made its way out.

  “No kidding! I mean, come on, how are we losing to these guys?” she asked, rifling through the condiment door and coming up with a bottle of Sriracha.

  “We’re losing because we’re not concentrating. We need to get our heads in the game.” I watched as she put away a jar of pickles and grabbed a jug of milk.

  “Pfft, maybe you’re not concentrating because you’re drooling over my b’ball player.” She smirked, removing a plastic container of leftover peas.

  “I’m sure that’s it,” I remarked, trying to keep the incredulous out of my voice. Without question, Tall Zach was great looking, but what a drip.

  “What am I looking for?” she asked, holding a container of sour cream in one hand and a cucumber in the other.

  “You got me,” I answered, spying Neil coming around the corner. “But thanks for cleaning out the fridge.”

  As Sophia stuck her head back in, Neil came into the kitchen.

  “Funny how I knew exactly what you were trying to draw, huh, Soph?” he started, and she froze. I knew she froze because the sour cream dropped to the floor. I sidestepped away as she shut the door, pointing her cucumber at him.

  “Don’t give me you knew exactly what I was trying to draw. You must have see
n the card.”

  “How could I have seen the card? You were holding it the entire time.”

  “Well, maybe you turned away from Titty McBoobs over there to look.”

  “Oh please, you think that—”

  I walked away just as Simon came around the corner, and I quickly turned him back from where he came.

  “I wouldn’t go in there right now. Sophia’s got a cucumber and she knows how to use it.”

  He snorted.

  “Wait, that came out wrong. They’re in there talking,” I said, tugging him along.

  We both winced as their voices rose.

  “Well, they’re talking loudly—but they’re talking.” I sighed.

  • • •

  In the end, Game Night totally sucked. Mimi almost passed out, still grumbling about being cheated out of SpongeBob HandBird. Ryan spent the rest of the night memorizing the Pictionary rulebook for next time, while Simon and I cleaned sour cream off the kitchen floor and picked cucumber seeds out from between the tiles.

  “She squeezed the seeds right out, with her hand! It wasn’t even peeled!” he kept saying, amazed and more than a little scared.

  And Frick and Frack? Made out with Tall and Tits. Actually made out with their dates in front of each other. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wanted to look away, I felt like I should look away, but I couldn’t. Simon and I stood there, covered in seeds, watching the make-out contest. Sophia was pushed up against the wall, so then Tits got pushed up against a wall. Neil got an impromptu lap dance; so did Tall.

  “It’s like we’re at some kind of swingers’ party,” Simon whispered when a shoe flew by, kicked off by a Playboy bunny.

  “Or WrestleMania,” I whispered back when another shoe flew the other way. Don’t think Sophia didn’t notice Shoeless Tits.

  When the groaning finally drowned out Mimi’s muttering, it was time to stick a fork in the entire evening. And then never speak of that fork again.

  Glaring at each other, Neil and Sophia walked out together, hot dates in tow. Ryan carried Mimi out to the hillevator, telling us he’d come back the next day to pick up their things. “I’ve got to get her home before she pukes,” he said, shaking his head. “No more drink stations.”