The Boy Next Door (19 page)

To: Mel Fuller

From: Dolly Vargas

Subject: Not that it’s any of my business, but…

Don’t you think it’s just the slightest bit…well,
tacky
to rub poor Aaron’s nose in it this way? I mean with this whole not-showing-up-to-work-the-morning-after-your-big-date thing. I’m sure it’s been a long time since you actually spent the night with a man, and all of that, but this is just plain rude.

There, I’ve said it. Now on to more important matters:

So just how big is he? Max Friedlander, I mean. Is he a shower or a grower?

Because you know, darling, I’ve heard rumors that…

Oh, there’s Peter again. He simply will not stop pestering me. More later, darling.

XXXOOO

Dolly

To: John Trent

From: Genevieve Randolph Trent

Subject: Your delinquency

Dearest John,

I can understand that you find your new, independent life quite engrossing—especially as far as the Fullers of Lansing, Illinois, are concerned—but you might remember that you once had a family, and that they would enjoy hearing from you now and again. I believe your brother has attempted to contact you more than once in the past few days, and that you have, in the vulgar vernacular of the day, “blown him off.”

It might behoove you to keep in mind, John, an old song from my Scout days:

Make new friends

but keep the old.

One is silver

and the other gold.

That applies to family as well, you know.

Mim

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: I’m sorry

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to scare you. As you can see, I’m fine.

I got another one of those tardies from Amy Jenkins. What is her glitch, anyway?

Do you know if George is mad? What’s the Mountain Dew situation? Is the machine fully stocked? Or is he suffering from caffeine withdrawal again?

I really meant to call, only I never got a chance. Every time I started to, well, I got distracted. Forgive me?

Mel

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: It’s about time!

I can’t believe you. Do you know how worried we all were?

Well, all right. How worried
I
was, anyway? Don’t ever scare me like that again.

I will forgive you if you give me a detailed date-a-logue: I want descriptions of where you have been and EXACTLY what you’ve been up to.

As if I didn’t know. “Distracted.”

Yeah. Right.

Nad

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: Him

What can I say?

Oh, Nadine, it was incredible! I remember what a complete wacko you were after that first weekend you and Tony spent together. I thought you had lost your mind. It’s probably wrong for a maid of honor to admit that, but it’s true.

But now I understand completely what you were going through. It’s LOVE! Love just does that to you, doesn’t it? I mean, I can even see now how, despite the age difference, Winona won’t let go of Chris Noth. Not if she feels the way about him that I feel about John.

Where to start?

Oh, dinner: He took me Belew’s.

No, really! I know, I know. There’s a three-month waiting list for reservations there, but we walked in like it was nothing, Nadine. And they led us straight to the most adorable little table for two tucked in the corner, and there was champagne already chilling in an ice bucket. Seriously. And it wasn’t Korbel, Nadine. It was Cristal. CRISTAL. That’s like three hundred bucks a bottle. I was all, “What, are you crazy, John? You can’t afford this.”

But he said not to worry about it, that David Belew owed him a favor.

Well, that must have been some favor, because we had the most incredible meal—I mean, even you could not imagine it, Nadine, you who’s been to Nobu and Daniel on the paper’s expense account. We started with oysters and Beluga caviar, then moved on to salmon tartar. Then came foie gras confit with port-poached figs, duck prosciutto, and…

Oh, I can’t even remember what else. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you.

But, Nadine, it was all so good, and with each course came a different wine, and by the time we got to the main course, which I think involved squab, I wasn’t even paying attention to the food, because John looked so nice in his suit, and he kept leaning forward and smiling and saying my name, and then I would go “What?” and he’d go, “What?” and then we’d laugh, and by the time dessert rolled around we were kissing over the tabletop, and the waiter could hardly get in there to take the things away.

So then John said, “Let’s get out of here,” and so we did, and I don’t even know how we made it back to the building, but we did, somehow, kissing the whole time, and by the time we got up to the fifteenth floor my dress was completely unzipped in the back, and then I remembered something horrible, and I was like, “What about Paco?”

And then John said the eight most beautiful words I’d ever heard:

“I paid the doorman to walk Paco tonight.”

My dress hit the floor before I even got the key into the lock.

And guess what? When I went out this morning, it was still lying there in the hallway! Somebody had found it and folded it up all nicely. How embarrassing! Can you imagine, Nadine? I mean, what if Mrs. Friedlander wasn’t in the hospital in a coma, and she’d found my dress like that?

Well, I guess if Mrs. Friedlander wasn’t in the hospital in a coma, my dress wouldn’t have been in the hallway. Because I probably would never have even met John, if someone hadn’t conked his aunt on the head and left me with that dog to take care of.

Anyway.

You know how in books they always talk about characters having bodies that just fit together? You know, like two long-lost puzzle pieces, or something? They just seem to fit perfectly?

That’s how John and I are. We just seem to fit. I mean it, Nadine, it was like it was meant to be, or something.

And then, since we fit so well together the first time, I guess it just seemed natural to fit together a bunch more times.

Which is why I suppose I’m so late this morning.

But, oh, Nadine, I don’t care how many tardy warnings Amy Jenkins sends me. It’s totally worth it. Making love with John is like drinking really cold water after being stranded out in the desert for years and years.

Mel

To: Jason Trent

From: John Trent

Subject: So sue me

I was busy, all right? And do you have to go whining to Mim every time you fail to hear from me for a few days? You think that just because Dad’s in jail, you’re…

Ah, forget it. I can’t even be pissed at you. I’m too damned happy.

John

To: John Trent

From: Jason Trent

Subject: Dad happens to be

in a minimum security rehabilitation center with the rest of the white-collar criminals. It is hardly jail. Not when everyone has his own television. Not to mention HBO.

And what precisely did you mean by that cryptic “We did it”? I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean. First of all, what are you, in the ninth grade? And second, what business do you have, “doing it” with someone who doesn’t even know your real name???

I hope by that “We did it” you mean the two of you ate raw blowfish or something.

Jason

To: John Trent

From: Stacy Trent

Subject: YOU WHAT???

You DID it? You DID IT? What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying you made love with her? Is that what you’re saying?

And that’s all you have to say about it???

I thought you agreed you were going to be there for me. I thought you understood that I am a woman badly in need of some vicarious thrills.

So you spill your guts, mister, or I’ll be sending the twins out to their Uncle John’s place for an extended visit….

Stacy

To: Stacy Trent

From: John Trent

Subject: My love life

Attachment: Parker’s Return

Stacy, I am not going to discuss my sex life with my sister-in-law. At least, not in the kind of detail you’re looking for. And do you really think it would be a good idea to send the girls out to see me when I happen to be living with two cats? You know Ashley is allergic.

What do you want me to say, anyway? That it was the most erotically charged twenty-four hours of my life? That she’s exactly what I’ve been looking for in a woman all this time, but never dared hope I’d find? That she’s my soulmate, my kismet, my cosmic
destiny? That I’m counting the minutes until I can see her again?

Fine. There. I’ve said it.

John

“But what about Paco?” she asked breathlessly.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Parker growled. “I shot him.”

Her baby blues were wet, the mascara around them smudged. She looked up at him, her gaze limpid.

“Oh,
Parker
,” she breathed.

“He won’t be bothering you again,” Parker assured her.

Her lips, bloodred and moistly parted, beckoned.

Parker was no fool. He lowered his head until his mouth was crushing hers.

She went soft and pliant against him at that first touch of his lips. By the fourth floor, she was almost boneless. By the sixth, he had the zipper to her little black dress undone. By the time they’d reached the tenth floor, the dress was halfway down her shoulders.

She wasn’t, Parker discovered by floor eleven, wearing a bra.

Or, he learned by floor thirteen, panties.

When the elevator doors opened on fifteen, and Parker half carried her out into the hall, the dress hit the floor. Neither of them noticed.

Inside her apartment, it was dark and cool—just the way Parker liked it. Her bed sat in a puddle of moonlight streaming in through the shadeless windows. He laid her down in that silver puddle, then stepped back to look at her.

She was naked the way only the most beautiful women can be, proudly, defiantly naked. No reaching for the protective covering of a bedsheet for her. The moonlight played along the curve of her waist, the length of her thighs. Her hair, a thousand dark red curls, pooled beneath her head, and her eyes, as she stared at him, were deeply shadowed.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. He came to her, as the tide follows the moon.

And when he came to her, he was as naked as she was.

Parker had, in his past, known women. A
lot
of women. But this…this was different, somehow.
She
was different. As his hands reached to part those slim smooth thighs, he had a sense that he was opening the gates to another world, a world from which he might never return.

A world, he knew as he slid into its hot and steamy grip, he would never, ever leave.

To: John Trent

From: Stacy Trent

Subject: You really ARE in

love, aren’t you? Oh, John, it’s so sweet.

Of COURSE you should send her roses.

Can I forward Chapter 17 to Mim? PLEASE???

Stacy

To: Stacy Trent

From: John Trent

Subject: NO, you can’t forward

Chapter 17 to Mim! What are you, crazy? I’m sorry I sent it to you. Delete it, okay?

John

To: Mel Fuller

From: Nadine Wilcock

Subject: Sorry

it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I had to go splash cold water on my face. I think you should seriously give up the journalism thing for a career as a romance novelist. Water after years in the desert?

I have to admit, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so…

Happy.

So. Was the “L” word mentioned, or not?

Nad

To: Nadine Wilcock

From: Mel Fuller

Subject: The “L” word

Well, now that I think about it, the “L” word wasn’t mentioned.

My God, I took my dress off in the hallway for a guy who didn’t even say the “L” word!

Shoot me. Could you please just shoot me?

Mel