Three o'clock that afternoon Colin was sitting at New Vine Wine Bar waiting for Gina. It was a hip new spot with an elaborate tasting bar in the middle of the room and discrete, private tables tucked next to the walls. The clientele, dressed in expensive suits and cocktail dresses, were there to be seen. It was a mix of thirty and fortysomethings, but all were sleek, fit and full of energy. Colin, by contrast, was unshaven, wearing a wrinkled shirt and mismatched socks; in his darkened bedroom, black and navy had looked the same. He'd ordered a glass of Zinfandel and was savouring it while he waited. At thirty dollars a glass, it would be a one-drink meeting.
Gina arrived fashionably late and was as stunning as ever in a plum, sleeveless cocktail dress that complimented her every curve. On anyone else it would have seemed a bit much for an afternoon business meeting. On Gina, it was elegant and sexy. Heads turned as she walked past, and Colin himself found it difficult to take his eyes off her. This knockout of a woman, who was also smart, funny and rich, could have been his wife. And to think, she still carried a torch for him.
"Dear God," she said when she saw him. "You look awful."
He took a drink of wine. "Well, at least I know you're not trying to seduce me."
"Not yet, maybe." She gave him a playful wink before turning her attention to the bartender. "Tony, is my table ready?"
Tony was an Italian thoroughbred in his early twenties — the type who bartended while waiting for his big acting or modelling break to come along. His teeth were unnaturally white. "Yes, ma'am. Will I send down a bottle of your usual?"
"Yes, please," she said with a smile. "And a couple of menus too." She looped her arm through Colin's, and together they walked to a table in the back corner. It had a bench seat, and she slid in close and scrutinized him.
"Don't start with me," he warned.
She held her hands up in surrender. "I didn't say a word."
A waiter arrived with a bottle of Merlot and poured a small sample for Gina to taste. Seeing that it met her approval, he filled her glass, left the bottle on the table and disappeared.
"Ok," said Colin, getting down to business. "What's this book of yours all about?"
"Politics, corruption and false identities."
"Which politicians, how corrupt, and why the false identity?"
"I can't tell you that."
He shrugged and pushed himself up from the table. "Well, this was a short meeting."
"Wait," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Finish your drink."
"I've got a lot of work to do, Gina." Her hand was still on his arm, the lightest of touches that hinted at intimacy. He made no attempt to shrug free.
"I can't give you all the details. For that you'll have to speak to the informant himself."
"The informant? What is this, Watergate?"
"You could say that, yeah. The Watergate of municipal politics."
At last, he gently pulled his arm away from her. "Ok. Tell me everything you can."
"He has inside information into the way contracts have been awarded at city hall."
"Nepotism makes for great news copy, but it's not enough to sustain a whole book."
She shook her head. "Not nepotism. Kickbacks. Political donations."
He'd watched her in action many times over the years and recognized her subtle shift into business mode. Still, she fascinated him. Sharp and clever, she was always two steps ahead of whomever she talked to. He'd have to stay on his toes.
"Again, perfect for the evening news, but not enough for a bestseller," he said.
"Trust me. There's plenty here."
"I'm not going to Staadt with this. My head's already on the chopping block."
"I know, but this book will turn things around for you." She leaned closer and he caught the spicy scent of her perfume. "Trust me."
"The company has no money. The advance, if there is one, would be meagre."
She sat back again and waved a dismissive hand. "Not a problem. My client doesn't really care about an advance; he just wants his book published."
"If only you'd had that opinion with Miguel Costa."
"That's different. Miguel's trying to help kids. This guy's an asshole, but he happens to be sitting on a goldmine."
Colin rubbed his thumb and forefinger along the stem of his wineglass. "Who else have you pitched it to?"
"No one."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm serious."
The waiter returned, and Gina ordered the oysters.
"Nothing for me. I'm not staying," said Colin.
"Don't be silly. There's a whole bottle of wine to finish, so we might as well have something to eat."
He was hungry, there was no question about that. All he'd had the entire day was his morning coffee and now, the wine. This place though, was a little rich for his blood.
"It's a business expense after all," said Gina, as though reading his mind.
"Fair enough. Just a while longer then."
With a nod, the waiter left.
"You really haven't shopped this to anyone else?" he asked.
Gina crossed her heart and gave him the Girl Scout salute. "Nope."
"Not even Pete?"
"Not even Pete."
"Why not?" He downed the last of his wine and helped himself to a second glass. If memory served, the Gina Lazarri Literary Agency splurged for the good stuff. He might as well enjoy it.
"I like you better." Her smile was as charming as ever and as the light caught the shimmer of her lip gloss, the memory of kissing her flashed through his mind.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks, but Miguel's book will be a hit."
"Not without a marketing budget."
"Seriously, how'd you find out about that?"
"It's my job."
He gestured to the wine and the room around them. "Just like this is your job?"
"Sort of. You get the VIP treatment."
"Why is that?"
"Because, to me, you're a very important person." She stared into her wine as she spoke, and he realized he wasn't the only person hurting. "You'll have to move quickly on the tell-all. This thing is about to blow wide open."
Before he could say another word, the oysters arrived. They were expertly arranged in their shells with wedges of lemon and sprigs of parsley for colour.
Gina tipped one to her mouth. "Delicious," she said and pushed the plate toward him. "Try one."
He squeezed a little lemon juice over the meat and let it slide from the shell onto his tongue. Not too salty with a hint of cucumber. After a day of unintentional fasting, it was a truly sublime treat.
"So," continued Gina, "you'll meet my client?"
"Deep Throat 2.0." He rolled his eyes as he spoke.
"Don't be so cynical," she said. There was an undeniable twinkle in her eye. "You used to be a fan of a little deep throat action."
Colin choked on his wine, and she laughed, the full, hearty laugh he'd fallen in love with so many years ago.
"Are you ok?" she asked, patting his back.
"Yeah," he coughed. "I think I'll survive." In truth, he was a little embarrassed. With any other agent, the comment would be risqué, but given their history, it was merely a bit of harmless fun. He needed to lighten up and relax. Even though it was a business meeting, he could afford to let his hair down a bit. It was Friday afternoon, in a fantastic spot with great food and expensive wine. To top it all off, Gina was proposing a win-win-win situation. Her client would get his story out and earn royalties, he'd save face at work and she'd get a healthy commission.
"So when do you want to meet my client."
The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Incorrigible."
"Do you really want to see Pete have a hit with this? Even if Miguel's book makes the New York Times list, this would give you two bestsellers." She jabbed him ever so softly with her elbow. "Wouldn't that make Henry squirm?"
Damn, she was good. Yes, the thought of bringing Henry down a peg or two was irresistible. "Ok," he said. "Set it up."
The waiter returned once again with a charcuterie tray and another bottle of wine.
"We didn't order this," said Colin.
The waiter smiled. "Compliments of the chef."
Colin checked his watch. The food looked incredible, but it was getting late. Afternoon was blurring into evening.
"Stay," she cooed. "You're here, the food's here. It would be a shame to waste it. Unless, of course, you're in a hurry to get home to Maureen." Her nose wrinkled at the name.
"No," he admitted. "I'm in no particular hurry to go home."
Grinning broadly, Gina poured him a generous glass of wine. With business out of the way, they talked mainly about old times and what their various college friends were doing now. Two bottles of wine became four, then five. By eight o'clock, when they decided to call it a night, he was enjoying the kind of devil-may-care attitude that only a sustained buzz could bring.
Outside the bar, Gina hailed a cab. As she stood with her hand on the car door, Colin leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Thanks," he said.
"For what?"
"This." He smiled. "I had a good time."
"I had a good time too."
They stood there, looking at one another in silence. Finally, the cabbie honked his horn for her attention.
"You'd better go," said Colin, and he started down the street.
"Colin."
He turned back. "Yeah?"
"Home is the other way," she laughed.
"I know. I'm going to grab a motel tonight."
"You're welcome to use my couch," she said.
Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, behind the alcohol-induced fog, a voice said that it wasn't a good idea. But motels were awful, and right now, home was worse. "I think I'll take you up on that," he said and crawled into the cab behind her.
He'd never been to Gina's apartment before. In fact, he didn't even know where she lived. Nothing surprised him though, when the cab pulled up in front a luxury Park Avenue apartment building. It was the kind of place Eve would have selected for a rendezvous. This woman, whom he'd once planned to marry, was now living in a world that would only ever be a fantasy for him.
A few minutes later they were standing in the foyer of the penthouse. Gina moved from room to room, clicking lamps on as she went. Colin followed in silence. There was a lot to take in. With white Corinthian columns, a crystal chandelier and original artwork, it was nothing short of palatial.
"Nice place," he said.
"Thanks." She took his coat and hung it up with hers. "Can I get you something to drink? You've probably had enough wine, but I have a nice scotch you might enjoy."
"Sold."
She disappeared behind a door, leaving him in the living room. He admired the paintings and moved from one to the other, noting the signatures as he went. Most of them he didn't recognize, but Rembrandt caught his eye and knowing Gina, it was an original. Then, he scanned her music collection, which was a mix of vinyl and CD. Naturally the albums were vintage and probably rare collector's editions to boot.
He pulled Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook from the shelf and put it on the turntable. As the sound of the opening strings and flute filled the room, he smiled. He hadn't listened to the recording in years. It was even better than he remembered, and on this sound system, it was perfection.
Standing alone, in his slightly inebriated state, he tried to take in the opulence of Gina's life. Their worlds were as different as night and day. Where she had wealth, order and peace, he had debt, chaos and arguments. He didn't begrudge her success — she'd earned it — but he did envy it a little. It underscored the mediocrity of his own life and the meagre success he'd had from working just as hard.
"Here you go," said Gina. She was holding a drink in each hand and had the bottle tucked under her arm.
He took a glass and laid the bottle on a nearby table. "What will we drink to?" he asked.
"Old friends?"
"Works for me." The scotch was as smooth as anything he'd ever tasted, even better than the stuff he'd gotten at Miguel's.
She held her glass up for another toast. "How about lucrative business deals?"
"I like that too." They clinked glasses and took another generous sip.
"Oh, I know," she said, touching his chest. "We could drink to watching Henry Burns go down."
"Hear hear." With that they drained their glasses and before he knew it, Gina was only inches away. She was looking up at him with an intensity that both excited and scared him.
"You were pretty deep in thought when I came in. Everything ok?" She was playing with the buttons on his shirt.
"Just trying to remember where my copy of this album might be," he lied. "Been a while since I saw it last." He stepped away to pick up the bottle and refill their glasses.
"Twenty-five years anyway." A devilish grin spread across her face and it dawned on him that, all these years, she'd had his copy.
"This is mine?" he asked. "How many more do you have?"
"Oh, one or two."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe five or six," she said.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he took another drink.
"I'll let you have them back on one condition."
"What's that?"
"Dance with me?" She took his hand and placed it on her waist. Ella was singing "In the Still of the Night," the lights were low and Gina was as beautiful a dance partner as any man could ever hope for.
In this moment, his whole life could change. The game, for all its temptation and grandeur, was just a game. This was real. A life with Gina was possible. He could leave the arguing and stress behind, and start again. All he'd have to do is take this stunning woman in his arms and make love to her. That was hardly a sacrifice, and it was what she wanted. She'd been trying to seduce him for years, and as he looked at the fullness of her lips, he couldn't remember why he'd ever resisted. He'd fallen in love with her once, perhaps he could again.
He focused on the sway of her hips and the heat of her body through his shirt. Any red-blooded male would give his right arm to be in his shoes right now; he felt nothing. Nothing, that is, beyond friendship. Fearing that he was simply too drunk to be aroused, he pulled her closer and let his cheek brush her hair. It smelled like flowers, delicate rose petals. It suited her, for as tough as she was in the boardroom, she was a softie inside. He closed his eyes and let the scent transport him to another time and place — when they were students dancing during study breaks. If they didn't have music, he'd hum. She'd been his whole world then. Yet now, there was nothing.
But alcohol wasn't the problem.
It was Gina. For all her charm and beauty, she wasn't Grace.
And his heart belonged to Grace.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Uh-oh," she said. "I know that look."
When he didn't reply, she pulled back ever so slightly. "Why are you and Maureen still together?"
He shrugged. "Till death do us part, remember?"
"Even when she's using you? You're a meal ticket for her. Nothing more."
"Ouch."
"You know it's true." Her tone was gentle with no trace of anger or spite.
Yes, he did indeed know it.
"Marriage is supposed to be give and take," she continued. "I've only ever seen you give, and Maureen take. That's not fair to you."
"You're not exactly impartial though, are you?"
She brushed the hair from his eyes. "All I'm saying is that you deserve more. For God's sake, don't stay in a loveless marriage because that's what you think you're supposed to do."
"It's not that easy."
"I never said it was easy." She took his hands in hers. "But divorcing might be the kindest thing you can do for one another."