Sleepless in Manhattan Page 8

  ‘Well . . .’ she sighed heavily. ‘I know I can be cynical when it comes to these things, but I’m not liking the way this sounds. I have to say I never felt Danny, of all people, was the unfaithful type. Even though it seems like I distrust all men, I actually don’t. And I’ve always had a soft spot for your guy.’

  Beth nodded, grimacing. ‘I really didn’t want to consider the notion either. But I’d be stupid if I didn’t start to wonder if something is going on – and it doesn’t feel good.’

  Jodi looked at her curiously. ‘Haven’t you tried talking about it with him? Let him know how you’ve been feeling.’

  Beth swallowed hard, hating the prospect of confessing any of her worries to Danny, especially when he was under so much pressure elsewhere. ‘I can’t say this to him,’ she said quietly. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jodi asked. ‘Why can’t you say anything if you truly think something is wrong? I didn’t take you for a doormat, Beth.’

  Beth shook her head in disagreement. ‘No, I’m not a doormat. I just don’t want to. Not when he’s got so much on his plate lately. And not only that but I suppose I feel like . . . like it’s admitting defeat somehow. That something is less than perfect with us. And that’s not how I want our relationship to be. It’s not how we have been in the past. Danny and I never argue. I mean, not really. And things have always been so good and—’

  ‘Oh, Beth,’ Jodi interrupted. She threw back the remainder of wine that was in her glass as she continued to shake her head out of obvious bewilderment. ‘Why do you think you can live your life like a heroine in some movie? How can you operate under the notion that you must have a perfect relationship? All those movies are fairy tales, sweetie. Danny is not your leading man, he’s real-life flesh and blood.’

  ‘I’m not operating that way, I’m just—’

  ‘Oh yes, you are. Newsflash, honey – relationships aren’t perfect. No one’s relationship is perfect. And like I said, life is not a movie. Look, I don’t mean to be a killjoy here, but someone needs to say this to you. Relationships are messy and dramatic and sometimes sad and then, happy too . . . but they are all of those things. And if they aren’t? Then someone isn’t holding up their end of the bargain. And with you and Danny, I am willing to bet it might be both of you at the moment. He very well might be under a lot of pressure and maybe he’s hiding something too. Something might be going on with him. But if you aren’t talking and have imposed a “let’s not talk about the bad stuff” rule, then it’s your fault, too.’

  Beth stared at her friend and considered her words. Admittedly, they stung. But were they true? When it came to Danny and their relationship, was she unable to talk about – or confront – problems? Recognise them, even? And worse, was she then in fact partly to blame for whatever was going on with him?

  ‘I suggest that you take a long hard look at yourself and the way you’ve been dealing with things, Beth. Really think about what I just said, because I don’t want you to get hurt and I don’t want Danny to get hurt, and even though I don’t really know Ryan, I don’t want him to get hurt either. And remember what I said, in a party of three, there is always an odd man out.’

  Having said her piece, Jodi sat back in her seat. The two women were both silent for a moment, until eventually she spoke again. ‘Speaking of which, I saw Frank and the floozie while I was picking up a pizza at Sal’s last night. I stopped at the corner bodega for a pack of twenty right after that.’

  While Jodi knew how Beth felt about her smoking, she also understood what her friend was dealing with if she had spied her ex with his new love in public. Even though the marriage had been over for almost two years, it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to realise that Jodi still had a soft spot in her heart for Frank. Beth reached out to take her friend’s hand, as she continued to recount her tale.

  ‘It’s like, I think I might have forgiven him. If it had just been sex. If only it had been something as simple as that. But it wasn’t. It was love, and that is what I think hurts the most. Men, for the most part, you know they think with the head down south.’ Jodi grimaced and rolled her eyes. ‘And I’m not excusing a cheater. Not in a million years. But I think that if Frank would just have admitted, “Jodi, honey, it was just a roll in the sack. It was a mistake,” and then promise me it would never happen again – after I had kicked his ass, of course – I might have been able to move on.’

  Squeezing Jodi’s hand, Beth whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Jodi. You are so wonderful and Frank’s an idiot for not realising it. I know what you’re saying and yes, you might call me silly, but I truly do believe that everything along the way happens for a reason. Maybe Frank isn’t the love of your life, and was never supposed to be the one you end up with.’

  Jodi chortled. ‘Quit it, Pollyanna.’

  Beth had to smile, realising she did indeed sound a bit Pollyannaish. But she truly believed what she was saying; it was how the world made the most sense for her: the idea that all the various plot strands in life eventually put you exactly where you were supposed to be. While Jodi, given her recent experience, was perhaps right to be cynical, at least for the moment, Beth wasn’t going to give up on that idea for anyone. And she knew all the way to her core that things would work out for Jodi. There was a Hollywood ending in store for her friend. She would bet on it.

  ‘Anyway, speaking of happy endings – or lack thereof – you promise me you will think about this? About what I said about Danny? And how life isn’t like the movies?’

  Beth gave a little nod – a reluctant affirmation of agreement, at least for the moment.

  ‘OK. Good.’ Jodi grabbed the bottle of wine and filled both her glass and Beth’s. She picked the glass up, took a drink and then pointed the remote control at the TV. ‘And now for our next lesson of the evening. Why men and women who are attracted to each other cannot be friends. If you want a movie example about your love life, Beth Harper, watch this. When Harry Met Sally. Hopefully, this one will drive the message home.’

  Chapter 7

  The following morning seemed to crawl by for Beth. Jodi was off today and the sales floor was quiet. The weather was cloudless, sunny and relatively mild, resulting in many of their potential customers taking advantage of the welcome break in the winter chill to spend time at the ice rinks, outdoor Christmas markets and other festive activities rather than at the department stores. Undoubtedly, the rush would pick up again once the weather turned, but for now it was peaceful.

  She was planning on taking a walk herself at lunchtime and wondered if Danny would get the opportunity to sample the beautiful day. He certainly needed a little Vitamin D, she thought, realizing how rundown he was looking lately. All that time cooped up inside the office wasn’t good for anyone, though she understood how desperate he was to hold on to his job.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by two people walking into the department at the same time. One was dressed in the low-key, slackerish garb of a bike messenger with a delivery, and the other was Marley Dempsey, teenage hotel heiress, evidently back from her recent jaunt to Europe.

  ‘’Tis either a feast or a famine’ was a favourite expression of Beth’s grandmother, and that was certainly true of today.

  Beth waved a hello and indicated to Marley that she wouldn’t be long – it seemed that the bike messenger would need a signature.

  The young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, had a messenger bag slung over his chest and was carrying a cup of coffee. As he approached, he started to search through the bag.

  ‘Hi, there, can I help you?’ Beth enquired with a smile.

  The guy popped his gum and returned her smile, albeit with less enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, I have a delivery for Beth Harper?’

  She perked up. ‘Well, that’s me,’ she said, her smile growing, wondering what had been sent to her. She had never received a delivery at work via bike messenger specifically for her.

  ‘Awesome,’ the guy said as if this was the end of some long
and drawn-out quest. He extracted a clipboard from his bag and handed it to her, along with a pen. ‘If you could just sign here,’ he indicated, pointing to an area on the clipboard. ‘This isn’t like, a traditional delivery, I guess you would say.’

  Curious, Beth signed her name and looked back up at the young man. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, handing the pad and pen back to him and expecting the usual envelope or package.

  ‘It means, here you go.’ With that he handed her the generic coffee cup he’d been carrying in his hand. ‘I’m assuming this is how you take your coffee. I was told triple shot grande white mocha. With whip?’

  Perplexed, Beth automatically reached out for the coffee cup. A bike messenger for a coffee delivery? ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  The guy shrugged. ‘I don’t know either, but it’s not the weirdest thing I have seen, that’s for sure. One time, I had a woman send her husband another woman’s underwear to his office. I’m guessing she’d found them in her bedroom or something. That was awkward.’

  Beth shook her head, the messenger’s story of marital infidelity completely going over her head as she considered the mysterious cup she now held in her hand. This was much more interesting to her. And yes, it was indeed her coffee of choice, but why on earth would anyone send her a drink via bike messenger? And at work, too?

  ‘Well, do you have the sender’s name?’ Beth asked.

  The messenger shook his head, and looked uncomfortable as he checked his clipboard. ‘No, the sender asked to keep that private. Sorry.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand, why would someone send me a coffee anonymously?’ What a weird, but kind thing to do. And she couldn’t deny it was intriguing. Sort of like something from a . . .

  ‘Actually there’s something else too.’ Now the guy looked discomfited, as if whatever he was about to do was definitely not part of his job description. ‘I am supposed to say, “Best enjoyed with a box of Cracker Jack.”’

  ‘Come again?’

  The messenger rolled his eyes and repeated, ‘“Best enjoyed with a box of Cracker Jack.”’ He said it faster this time, as if he was eager to get all of this out of the way as quickly as possible.

  Beth looked from the bike messenger to the cup of coffee in her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t understand. I’m supposed to drink this with Cracker Jacks? Isn’t there anything else—’

  But the bike messenger cut her off. ‘I have no idea, ma’am. That’s all I’ve got written down here. Sorry.’ And with that, he took his leave.

  Beth considered the message, all the while staring at the cup, which felt warm and fresh in her hand. Best enjoyed with a box of Cracker Jack? What on earth was that all about? She didn’t even particularly like Cracker Jack. Especially not with coffee.

  ‘Um, hello?’ Beth’s confused train of thought was interrupted by Marley Dempsey, who had until now been waiting, albeit impatiently, on the shoe sofa. ‘I don’t have all day here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Marley! I’ll be right with you.’ Beth tried to figure out what to do with the cup of hot coffee, and decided for the moment to put it behind the cash wrap, out of view of the shopping public. She would deal with it later. It certainly wasn’t the time or the place to drink it. She looked at her watch: just after ten thirty, a good hour before she was even due to take a coffee break.

  Feeling intrigued and more than a little excited, though unsure exactly why, Beth knew that before she could ponder it further she had to deal with a demanding socialite, who apparently needed more new shoes.

  Half an hour later, Beth waited as Marley tried on her fifteenth pair of boots – seemingly unimpressed as the teenager had the Prada on her feet for less than two seconds before she was scowling and shaking her head. ‘No, these put like thirty years on my feet. It’s like I’m your age or something,’ she complained, scowling.

  Well, thanks. Beth pressed her lips together as she did the sums. Apparently Marley thought she was pushing fifty. ‘If it helps, I personally like the Jimmy Choos best on you,’ she offered as she watched the girl kick off the fifteen-hundred-dollar boots with little grace or delicacy.

  ‘Whatevs,’ Marley said. ‘I guess I will take the Choos and those Louboutins. I want the brown, black, and taupe.’ The girl paused for a moment and furrowed her brow, apparently thinking hard. ‘And throw in those purple shoes too.’

  Beth smiled at the girl’s ability to be so flippant over shoes that averaged a couple of thousand dollars a pop, and began gathering up the boxes that Marley had scattered all over the floor of the department within the past half-hour. Lucky for Beth, the girl’s lavish purchase would mean another decent bonus next month.

  ‘So, it doesn’t look like you were in Europe for very long then?’ she chatted to Marley as she went. ‘Didn’t you just go to London with your father?’ Beth tried recalling what the girl had said last time she was in the store. She hadn’t listened very closely to the details at the time, but she knew that Marley would have no problem talking – especially about her favourite subject – herself.

  The younger girl nodded as she popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth. ‘Yeah, I was only there for a couple of days. It was grey and rainy and I was totally bored. My dad said that I should hop on over to Monaco for a while – my mom was there. But like, she’s a total downer, just had a ton of plastic surgery and is recovering, so like, what’s the point of being with her?’

  Possibly to keep her company? Beth thought, a little uncharitably. She’d love the opportunity to spend a little time with her own parents. It had been almost two years since she’d managed a trip home to Galway, and as it was expensive for her mum and dad to come and see her, opportunities for time together were few and far between.

  ‘She’s on this big detox too – completely ugh.’ Marley complained. ‘So I just decided, better to come back to New York, especially with both my folks safely an ocean away.’

  And Beth had no doubt that the lack of supervision was the last thing this girl needed. Based on history alone, it was clear that whatever trouble Marley got herself into here would ultimately make it onto Page Six, and wouldn’t take long to reach her parents on the other side of the Atlantic.

  ‘Well,’ Beth began, feeling at a loss for what to say to this overindulged, but she guessed ultimately very lonely teenager, ‘I hope you behave yourself.’ Marley rolled her eyes and Beth instantly regretted what she had said. She did indeed sound matronly.

  Beth picked up the boxes that Marley was about to take home and headed over to the cash wrap, her thoughts immediately returning to the coffee cup and the strange message. She set down the boxes and carefully moved the now cold cup of coffee aside, so as not to spill it. Then she set about scanning the SKU code on each box and added each one to a large Carlisle’s bag – and then two – so as to not make it too heavy for Marley as she left the store. Though no doubt there’d be a driver waiting two steps or so away from the entrance so she wouldn’t have to struggle on the pavement.

  Just as she finished this task, Marley approached and very ungracefully plopped her large Miu Miu handbag on the counter with so much oomph that the bag toppled over, spewing its entire contents directly onto Beth’s work area and knocking over the cup of coffee. Whitish-brown liquid spilled everywhere.

  Thinking and reacting quickly, Beth pulled the Carlisle bags containing the boots back just in time, as cold coffee cascaded down the workspace.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m like, so sorry!’ Marley said earnestly as she quickly went to collect the contents of her handbag.

  Beth held up her hand, thankful that none of the actual merchandise was damaged. ‘It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s no problem. Let me just run and get something to mop this up with.’ She hurried to the back room and returned a moment later with a roll of paper towels to clean up the spilled coffee. She handed some to Marley, who went about drying off her belongings and placing everything again in her bag.

  ‘I’m really sorry about that
,’ the girl apologised again, now sounding much more like her young age.

  Beth shook her head as she finished mopping up the mess; she wasn’t mad at all. ‘Really, it’s no problem. It’s my fault, that coffee cup shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’

  She pulled a rubbish bin from below the cash wrap and started throwing the soiled paper towels in it, feeling grateful that the mess was contained. Then she reached towards Marley, who also had wet paper towels to dispose of, and took them from her. The socialite reached down, grasped the now-empty coffee cup and was handing it to Beth when she stopped and frowned.

  ‘Hey, that’s weird, there’s writing inside this cup. Did you know that?’

  Beth felt a little tingle travel up from the base of her spine. Writing in the cup?

  ‘Really? I had no idea. What does it say?’ she enquired, moving to the other side of the cash wrap where Marley was inspecting the inside of the cup.

  The younger girl squinted and turned the container around in her hands as she read. ‘I think it says, “Meet me there. We could have this engraved, couldn’t we?”’ She frowned again and looked at Beth. ‘Huh? What does that mean? You must have gotten a bad cup,’ she added quickly, dismissing the cup and handing it to Beth for disposal. ‘Take it back to wherever you got it and give ’em hell. That’s what I’d do.’

  But given the circumstances of its delivery, Beth was pretty sure it wasn’t a ‘bad cup’. She peered into the container herself, at once making out the handwriting. The message must have been written with a Sharpie before the cup was filled because it wasn’t at all smeared by the hot liquid. It had definitely been written deliberately and Beth felt sure it had something to do with the bike delivery guy’s accompanying verbal message.