What a Girl Needs (16 page)

I follow Matt into the mall, and with a rush of angels, see the blue glass empire of jewels. Tiffany & Co. The Mother Ship. Or, it would be if I were here with Kevin, and not the incredibly overconfident and thoroughly annoying, Matt Callaway. Tiffany & Co. is elegance personified. I’m more into straight-up bling—not above tacky. Definitely, I’m more Jersey Housewife than Tiffany’s. But Kay is definitely Tiffany. Simple. Classic. I’d say that she’s actually more REI, but one can’t wear a tent or a carabiner on their ring finger.

“You’re still mad at me for pointing out your marriage is in trouble.”

“My marriage
isn’t
in trouble,” I state with a smile.

“I get it, Ashley. Your husband just isn’t ready to start a family yet.” He nods as if I’ve just lost a relative – supposedly to let me know how deceived I am.

I stop in my tracks. “Do you want my help or not, Matt?”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “But like I said, the sooner you get back to work, the better. The longer you’re out of the game, the less opportunity you’ll have to leave when the time comes.”

I clench my hands tightly but refuse to give him the pleasure of acknowledging his words. Before, Matt was just an annoyance, like a buzzing fly. Now he’s turned into more of a wasp, and his sting wounds.

I turn my attention to happier thoughts. Tiffany’s storefront is sleek, understated glass in their signature blue. There’s a security guard at the door, in front of golden, leafy wallpaper on the subtle beige floral carpet.

A quiet, library-like hush comes over me as we walk into the open area surrounded by dark wood and glass cabinets. A friendly sales person greets us, and the others step back, as if this is some kind of rehearsed royal etiquette to meet Her Majesty.

“Welcome.” The team takes another step backward, as if to let us browse unencumbered by sales pressure. The wedding department is in the back of the store, a step up from the regular jewels. Matt leads me to a young Asian man in a tightly fitted gray suit with a lavender tie.

“Jimmy, this is my girlfriend’s former roommate. The one I was telling you about.”

Jimmy smiles broadly. “You must be Ashley. I’ve heard you have excellent taste.”

Since you’ve met Matt, I obviously, have much better taste than my roommate’s boyfriend.
I feel guilty for a brief second, before realizing how I’m betraying Kay. What if this isn’t what she wants? What if I really did see evidence of Matt’s lothario ways? Can she give him an honest answer?

I try to be friendly, but I’m checking out Jimmy’s left hand, and he appears to be single. I try to decipher how old he is, and if he might be interested in my very fantastic, very organized friend. But he looks to be in his twenties, definitely too young for Kay, and the weight of one of Kay’s nylon tents in the garage might crush him, so I cross him off the suitable candidates list.

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy.” I reach out my hand towards him, and he grasps it, shakes it once.

“Let me show you the ring that Matt has selected for his lovely bride. It’s one of our finest and the diamond quality is exceptional. He’s chosen a two-carat center stone.”

Two carats?
I take in Matt’s movie star glamor and wonder if I wasn’t too quick to judge. Two carats at Tiffany’s is nothing to thumb one’s nose at!

Okay, that was shallow.

Jimmy pulls out a pillowed bed with a classic Tiffany’s sparkler on the center of it. It dawns on me that these diamonds, ironically the hardest substance on earth, are treated with kid gloves and better than most humans on the planet. The ring is a classic solitaire set in platinum. Elegant and gorgeous, but somehow, not right for Kay.

Meh.

“That’s not it.”

“No?” Matt asks, astonished. “Did you see it?” He pushes it closer toward me.

I flinch and bat it away instinctively. “I saw it, Matt. It’s two carats, not exactly something my eyes are going to miss. But, it’s too attention-hungry for Kay.” I look at Jimmy. “It’s beautiful. Absolutely iconic, but I don’t think it’s my friend’s taste.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Matt asks me through his clenched jaw.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, Matt. It’s stunning. If you don’t like my opinion, feel free to not take it.” I stare around the room at the other salespeople. “I should just go get a pretzel. Do they still have pretzels in the food court?” I ask Jimmy.

He shakes his head. “It’s on the other side of the mall now. They have a Chicken Wow.”

“Chicken what?”

“Ashley, focus. The ring isn’t for you,” Matt reminds me.

“I know, Matt. It’s way too tasteful for me.” I stare past the ring at Jimmy. “I just don’t think it’s tasteful enough for Kay. It screams for attention, and I think Kay’s ring would whisper.” It dawns on me that if Matt really loved Kay, he’d know this.

“Rings don’t talk,” Matt snaps.

“I think the solitaire sticking up would bother her. Like it would get stuck on things, and be in the way while she cooks. She’s very hospitable,” I share with Jimmy. “The ring has to work with her, not be the center of attention.”

“I can tell you from experience that most women wouldn’t mind having that problem.” Jimmy laughs.

“Kay’s not most women. Listen, I agree with you. I figured out how to do laundry around my giant rock, but Kay’s not like that. She’s much more practical. Can we see that one?” I point to a round solitaire in a smooth, modern bezel setting. The diamond is protected by the simplicity of the platinum, as if it’s hugging the diamond in a maternal way.

“An excellent choice,” Jimmy says, as he looks to Matt. “It’s less expensive than the one you’ve selected, but it’s very sleek. Very modern.”

“I don’t like it,” Matt barks. “You can’t see the whole diamond. I’m buying a perfect diamond, and I want Kay to see that. I don’t need to cover up the stone,” Matt snaps. “People will think I’ve got something to hide.”

Do you?

“It’s an exquisite ring,” Jimmy inserts. “Why don’t you try it on, Ashley, so that Matt can see what it looks like on your hand?”

I extend my right hand toward Jimmy and he slides the ring on my finger. I wiggle it appropriately and watch it sparkle under the intense lights—as anyone who slips on a two-carat ring would do, to see the glint and glimmer under the brilliant bulbs.

From the corner of my eye, I see a Tiffany blue package drop to the floral carpeting, and instinctively, I reach for it. Everything unfurls in slow motion after this.

“Ashley, no!” Matt yells out, but my hand is on the package when I’m tackled from behind. The package flies into the air as if it had wings, and I’m thrust toward the exit. The security guard’s uniform is a blur as he comes toward me, and my body is jarred like a sacked quarterback from behind. Whirls of colors, lights and textures fly by me as I glide across the air before landing face-first on the cold, hard tiles in the mall. I struggle to push myself off the ground when the heavy attacker strikes again and crushes me against the floor.

The world passes and tumbles around me in a mass of colors and sensations. A high-pitched alarm peels through the air, piercing the tranquility of the upscale mall with its warbling and threats of chaos. I moan in agony as my senses return to me.

“Stay down!” Matt’s voice snipes at me, and I realize it’s him on top of me, pressing me to the cold, flat surface. The feet of the security guard are in front of me, the cuffs of his official uniform mere inches from my head as Matt shelters me from the storm.

“Matt, move! You’re hurting me.” I writhe and struggle against his weight. I realize the mall cop must be after the ring, and yank it off my finger and throw it towards him, with a tinkling sound—but the fake officer makes no attempt to grasp the jewel, and it halts a few feet away from us, unclaimed like a gumball machine trinket.

Finally, the lanky, uniformed guard bends to grab the ring when another abrupt explosion shatters the delicate, blue glass from the shop’s storefront. Tiny sprinkles of glinting gravel rain down over us in a destructive hail. Matt’s arms surround me, and he covers me with his body.

After the explosion, I can hear people running and screaming through the cavernous, upscale mall, but Matt’s burly arms cover my eyes. I struggle to get free of his grip, but he only tightens it.

“Ashley, be still,” Matt whispers loudly in my ear, over the alarm.

After what feels like an eternity, the commotion stops. Everything stops but the alarm, which continues to squeal its annoyance. The police finally announce their presence, and Matt sets me free. I push off the floor, but my wrist gives way and I pummel back into the ground, nose first. I groan – of all the ways to see the mall, I never thought my face plastered on the tile would be one of them.

“Ashley?” Matt looms over me, his hand outstretched. “Are you all right?”

Instinctively, I grasp my left arm. “I think something’s wrong with my wrist.” My hand hangs limply and it throbs with pain.
Seriously, I’m jewelry shopping. How does this stuff happen to me?

Tiffany’s looks like the center of Beirut in the 90’s. The storefront has virtually disappeared. The neat, pristine glass and wood cases are in crumbles and salespeople stand shell-shocked inside the skeleton of the shop. I roll onto my knees and rise without the use of my arms, thinking at this inopportune moment that I need to exercise more and build my core muscles.

Armed police officers and a swat team have infiltrated the mall—and it’s like something on the ID network. It’s not a scene I belong in—let’s be real, I’d be on Bravo.

“What happened?” I ask Matt—since he clearly had a better view on top of me.

“The store was robbed. That package you reached for—”

“The pretty one wrapped like a Tiffany’s gift?”

Matt nods. “It was an explosive.”

“How’d you know?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. It was not there one minute then suddenly appeared, and instinct took over. It didn’t seem right.”

I choke over my next words, “Thank you.”

Two policemen approach us. They’re not in SWAT gear like the others, but regular police uniforms. “You found something of mine in the guest room,” he says ominously.

“What?” I try to register what he’s telling me.

“You found something I believe. I made a mistake, not the one you think I did, but I swear, never again. I got tired of waiting for Kay, and then I realized she was all I wanted. I think we should keep your discovery between the two of us.”

My mouth is open, but words won’t form.
What is he telling me?
Are we talking about the same discovery?

“We have some questions,” an officer interrupts my spinning head and separates me from Matt.

I bury my face in my good elbow as I realize if I tell Kay, I’ll break her heart. If I don’t, I’m stuck with this terrible secret forever, wondering when he’ll make another “mistake.” At the same time, I don’t know if he’s actually admitted to anything? But if not, where did they go? Kay wouldn’t have left that mess under the bed to carefully extract a pair of wayward undies.

“Can you stand there against the wall? We’ll need a statement,” my officer says. He’s polite, but asks me about Matt. Seriously, if I knew more about Matt, I wouldn’t be here. He eventually decides I’ve got nothing to say about Matt.

“Your full name?”

“Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale Novak.”

He glares at me. “Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“On television, they give you a chair when you’re being interrogated.”

“You feel interrogated?” His brows raise and he gives a slight shrug. “What were you doing in the store?”

Forget what we were doing at the store. Why don’t you ask him what he’s been doing in his fiancée’s house while he pretends to be a faithful boyfriend? They’re missing jewelry, but Kay could be missing her calling.

It becomes clear after questioning that Matt and I are suspects—seriously, if I’m going the theft route—I’m not doing tasteful elegance. Rather than worry about the implications of being suspect, I wonder how I’m going to explain my situation to Kevin. A reporter, who I recognize from television, is setting up with a camera—he’s got a sport coat and a tie on with a pair of faded jeans. The timing of the reporters in comparison to the police officers really makes me question public safety.

As the cameraman hoists the camera onto his shoulder, I want to melt into the wall and disappear—which isn’t likely to happen with my clown hair.
What was I thinking? Why can’t I just go through life like a normal person and find my next job?

I wonder if you can claim posttraumatic stress disorder from a bad anniversary gift? Probably not. The airplane ticket would need to be one-way, most likely. Kevin did provide me a way home, but after today, I’m not sure he’s going to claim me at the airport.

As I see the camera’s red light go on, my heart pounds as I try to speed up the cop. “Am I going to be here long?”

“Just a few more questions. I have another officer on his way to take you to Valley Med and get your arm checked out.”

“I’m fine. Totally fine,” I tell him. “Was anyone hurt?”

He stares at me, but doesn’t answer my question. My heart thumps in my throat, as the news camera, in all its official capacity, is aimed in my direction. I pray that none of my old coworkers will recognize me with the Ronald McDonald hair and Maxi dress.
I’m incognito
as a fashion “don’t.”

“So you had not seen the package prior to it landing on the carpet in the store this morning?” The policeman asks again. He’s a short, squat little thing—built like a fireplug. He’s bald, good-looking and official in every way, but he’s really short, and for some reason, I can’t get past it, because it seems like I could take him down. Maybe I’m just feeling tougher after playing
Survivor
in the mall.

“There are no height requirements for officers anymore?” I meant to just think it, but my mouth does not always comply with my brain.

If looks could kill,
shortstuff
would not need the gun perched on his hip.

I shrink a little against the wall. “No, sir. I never saw the package. I thought someone behind the counter must have dropped it, so I went to reach for it. I’d forgotten I had the ring on. I guess that’s why the security guard jumped on us.”