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“Do you have an allergy to new cotton?”
“Nope.”
“Then why can’t you put on underwear that isn’t about to disintegrate if a strong wind blows?” Lordy, did I just use the word ‘blow’ again? I’m so cringing inside. He chews his food slowly and continues to stare, his expression not giving a thing away. A half-century later, I’m still waiting for an explanation for this impromptu visit.
“You’ve been checking out my underwear?” There he goes again with his nonquestion.
“Calvin.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going furniture shopping tomorrow.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re coming with me.” Standing away from the doorframe, he turns to leave. “Sam, too.”
Chapter Ten
“I just love this piece, don’t you?”
No, I think it looks like dog shit, but no one is asking me. The decorating consultant, an attractive woman in her early thirties with a perpetual smile on her face that the peacock has hired, doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job consulting. I say ‘peacock’ because today he has another one of his snazzy designer outfits on. A black cashmere hoodie with designer distressed jeans and biker boots that no biker on this planet could ever afford.
He stares at the heavy, dark wood coffee table with as close to contempt as I’ve seen on his face. To her, it probably looks like apathy.
“You don’t like it?” she asks with a brittle, nervous smile. She brushes his forearm again, probably for the tenth time today; I stopped counting at eight. He glares at her and she misses the look. I have to lock down the urge to snicker every time. She’s either the most incredibly stupid woman I’ve ever met, or arguably the craftiest.
At the sound of me clearing my throat, Calvin takes an extra long, heavy lidded glance in my direction. Then his eyes move back to the woman who is trying her hardest not to stare at him with serious yearning in her eyes. How does she do this? Allow me to explain, by forcing her eyes wide open. I haven’t seen her blink in like three minutes and it’s disconcerting, downright creepy actually. Like I said, after he takes a long look at me, he turns to her as says, “No.”
This is how most of the day has gone. Right now I’m the Emoji with straight lines for eyes and mouth with a gun pointing at it––and I’m not talking the squirt gun. By the time we’re leaving the fourth store without anything to show for it, I’m losing my patience and Sam looks bored and annoyed and no one wants to shop with a grumpy eight year old.
“Calvin, if you don’t buy something soon we’re leaving,” I hiss out of earshot of his decorator. “Where did you get her anyway?”
“Barry.” My blank stare prompts him to continue. “My agent.”
“Whatever––Sam and I are going to grab a snack.” For a split second, something resembling worry crosses his face…actually, it looks exactly like worry. “Meet us at Pain Quotidien on the corner when you’re done not buying anything. God’s sake, you’re not playing the Patriots, stop making this look difficult.”
The last part earns me the filthiest glare. He looks over his shoulder, and I take it as my cue I to leave.
“Madison, we’re done. My girlfriend and nephew are hungry.”
And my steps come to a screeching halt. Girlfriend? Girlfriend? The fuck?
Madison looks shocked right out of her Manolo Blahniks. Armed with this new information, her eyes do a much more thorough inspection of my person. The confused look on her face telegraphs that she’s found me lacking.
I don’t blame her. From an objective perspective, even if he wasn’t a ridiculously talented professional athlete, his supermodel good looks place him in a completely different league from me, maybe even a different solar system. And this very obvious fact does not bother me in the least.
I’ve never wanted to be in that league. Why would anybody? I like to fly under the radar. I’ve never had the desire to be famous, or love a man that just about every other female on the planet with a pair of eyes lusts after. No thanks. I mean, Matt was attractive and his charming, playful personality made him even more so, but nowhere near this caliber––and that was just fine by me.
I turn toward Calvin wearing probably the most astonished, confused look on my face ever, and all I get in return is a slight narrowing of the eyes, which I know––bizarre that I know this––means not to contradict him. He doesn’t wait for Madison to respond. On go his sunglasses, and out the door we go.
The café on the corner serves brunch. We eat at warp speed. When you have one of the most celebrated athletes in the city sitting next to you, you can count on a long line of people crowding the table for an autograph as if they’re entitled to it.
