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“Why are you talking about Apollo’s boyfriend like you know him?” She demands as she storms up to where we’re talking.
“Reena, it’s okay.” I pick up my purse and stand up.
“Your boyfriend?” Nanette bursts out laughing, and my heart feels like it’s pressing against my lungs, trying to hide from what’s coming.
“How do you feel about your boyfriend paying for this new purse I just bought?” she holds up a Louis Vuitton purse and waves it in my face.
“You’re lying,” I say and hate how scared I sound.
“Of course, she’s lying,” Reena chimes in and then leans over my shoulder toward Nanette.
“If I wasn’t worried about getting your makeup all over my hands, I’d slap you,” she says, glaring at Nanette.
“Do you have something in your eye?” Nanette says as she looks at Reena like she’s an insect.
“No, but I’ll put something in yours if you don’t shut your piehole.” She turns and hooks her arm through mine.
“Come on, Apollo. It smells like unwashed, dirty vagina here now.” And then she drags me away.
I look over my shoulder and Nanette is glowering at us.
“Why did you look back? You never look back,” Reena hisses at me as she pulls me through the swanky department store.
“Sorry, I know. I just don’t understand what the fuck she’s doing here.”
“Is that her? The one you told me about? The old crone?” she asks as soon as we step out onto Fifth Avenue.
“Yeah.” I steer us toward East Fifty-Sixth.
“Apollo, I hate to break it to you, but she’s not really a crone. In fact, she’s quite pretty if you like blondes with great skin, incredible tits, and legs that never end.”
“Jeez, thanks. Wanna go back and ask her out?” I slip my arm out of hers.
“I kid, I kid. She’s got bunions. Let’s go eat mozzarella and all the cured meat we can fit on a plate.”
“Sure,” I smile distractedly. By the time we’re seated, my heart and mind are both racing, trying to understand what just happened.
“Don’t tell me you believe those lies, Apollo,” Reena asks as our waitress walks away from the table. I haven’t said a word since we sat down. I’m racking my brain and trying to decide what to do. I grab one of the small half-moon crostini and pile it high with salami and a slice of the most delicious smoked mozzarella in the world and shove it into my mouth without answering.
She does her weird glaring thing and in classic Reena fashion, she decides, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, and she shoves her own overloaded crostini into her mouth.
I’m panicking. Graham can’t be doing all of this and still seeing that woman. He wouldn’t. But why is she here? Why hasn’t he mentioned it? Why is Graham paying for her clothes?
“Apollo. Just ask him. Don’t sit here and make up fantasies about what the truth is. You can ask him face-to-face.”
“There’s an event tomorrow,” I say.
“What event?”
“He’s got some big endorsement deal. They’re having some sort of drinks thing.”
“And you didn’t invite me?”
“You’re invited. So
rry, he invited me this morning. I meant to tell you, and then I forgot,” I say and cram more cheese in my mouth.
“Well, it will be the perfect opportunity ask him face-to-face,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
