What A Girl Wants (13 page)

“You were supposed to ask him out,” Diane pointed out.

Hayley's patience was slipping. “That's not the point here. He didn't know that. I didn't ask him out and he didn't ask me out. We came away from the moment with nothing.”

“Which proves you're equally ineffectual on that score and may be a match made in heaven.”

“What I'm trying to get to the bottom of is why he would wink if he weren't interested.”

“Why would a guy wink at all, though?” Shrugging, Diane added, “Maybe he had something in his eye. Guys don't really wink anymore.”

Suz shook her head. “ 'Scuse me, but guys do
so
wink. Didn't Sergio wink at you? Spaniards wink all the time.”

“Spaniards?” Hayley repeated weakly. She could feel the conversation getting away from her again.

“No, it's true,” Audra agreed. “Many a fine young Spaniard has winked at me. And they don't wink for no reason. It means he's interested. I confess I find it extremely arousing.”

“Sergio didn't wink at me.” Hayley wrinkled her forehead, trying to recall all the details. “At least I don't think so. I don't really remember.”

“Well, I disagree with Audra. I think a Spanish wink is more like conversational punctuation than a sexual pass fraught with meaning.” Diane looked around the table sagely. “Not everything means something.”

“So you're saying there are rules for Spaniards and different rules for other men?” Audra asked.

It was time to put the kibosh on the Spaniards thread and get the conversation back on track.

Hayley put her palm out and said, “I have nothing against Spaniards, Aud, but what I'm really interested in is, ‘Can I get a contact number?' What's that all about? It's the word ‘contact' that I find unsettling. If he'd said ‘phone' or ‘home' or ‘personal' or something like that, I'd have a sense that he was going to ask me out. But why didn't he ask me out right there, if he was planning to ask me out at all?”

“That was an interesting choice of words, wasn't it?” Diane assumed the “thinker” pose, chin on fist. “There's a certain formality to this guy I find really interesting. The way he said ‘deceased' instead of ‘dead,' ‘vomit' instead of ‘puke,' and now ‘contact' instead of ‘phone.' He must have done well on the SATs.”

“Well, maybe not,” Audra said. “I don't think they're all related. ‘Deceased' and ‘vomit' are very specific word choices. ‘Contact' is almost deliberately vague in terms of its lack of clarity regarding whether his interest extends to business or pleasure. No connection, in my opinion.”

“Yes, but maybe it's not the vagueness-specificity continuum we should be paying attention to. Maybe it's—”

“
Maybe
,” Suz said with a smirk, “
maybe
he simply wanted to provide Hayley and her friends with endless hours of analysis on this very subject.”

“Oh, God, you're right. Listen to me,” Diane wailed. “ ‘Vagueness-specificity continuum'? I'm a freak! What's going to become of me?”

“You always get like this near graduation.” Suz squeezed
Diane's shoulder. “Everything always turns out okay, doesn't it?”

“It only turns out okay,” Diane said, “because I immediately start studying something else. Maybe if I duff the Human Sexuality paper and get an F, I won't have to graduate this year.”

“You can't duff the Human Sexuality paper,” Hayley said, alarmed.

“Why not?”

“Because it's about me! That in and of itself is a concern to me. And now you're talking about writing a
bad
paper about me and sex. That's just . . . just . . . you can't. It's offensive. It might end up in the public domain. It could be misinterpreted. I'd never live it down. No guy would want anything to do with me—I'll be having imaginary sex for the rest of my life.”

“Imaginary sex? Are you having a lot of this imaginary sex right now?” Hayley just glared at Suz, who added, “Like anyone who matters is going to be reading Diane's graduate school research paper.” She snickered. “Oh. Sorry, Diane.”

Diane lifted weary eyes to Hayley. “Don't worry; I was just saying that. I don't have it in me to underperform. And you're right. This is just par for the course. I think I'm just tired or something. It's been all work and no play. I've been skipping the MBA beer busts, and maybe I just need a drink. How about Monday martinis at the Zodiac?”

“Yeah, I'm in,” Suz said.

“In,” Audra said. “I need a stiff drink myself, what with all that's been going on.”

“Likewise,” Hayley added.

“Good.” Diane smiled weakly. “And really, I'll be fine. This must just have something to do with closing in on thirty.”

Audra gasped in horror. “You
had
to mention being thirty. Oh,
dear God. Can I not bask in the glory of Hayley's progress for the length of even one conversation? I was just out of my bad mood.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“What's wrong?” Hayley asked.

“Nobody's turning thirty anytime soon,” Suz said in an exasperated mutter and was duly ignored.

“You know how I told you we had the bonus meeting at work the other day?” Audra asked. “Well, it doesn't look like the amount is going to be what we were hoping for. In fact, you and the rest of your startup cronies are responsible for this.”

“Whoa.” Hayley sat back out of range of Audra's accusing finger.

“We did all the work. We provided all the capital. We made the money happen for you. But your business models all sucked, excuse the expression, and you couldn't figure out how to make a profit. I've never seen such bullshit financial management in my entire life. Your people are the stupidest people I've ever met.”

Hayley swallowed, but Audra wasn't finished. “Now we're seeing the final results, and it's not pleasant. The money has vaporized! It's
your
fault I'm not going to be a millionaire by the time I'm thirty. It's
your
fault. You and your people.”

“My people?” Hayley asked, trying to avoid laughing in Audra's face.

“Yes. You sloppy techie people and your lattes and your BMWs and your expensive clothes and your goddamn sense of entitlement. You people disgust me. Back when it counted, I should have stood out in the Mission District picketing with those creepy artists who thought they should be getting apartments for free just because they could make pretty pictures.”

“But—”

“I'm not finished yet. I can't believe the ridiculous sums of money your people pulled in—are still pulling in—for jobs a person with half a brain cell could do . . . and it was
my money
.” She inhaled a very deep breath and exhaled very slowly. “There. Now I'm finished. Well, what do you know? I feel better. That's been bothering me for a while.” She picked up her latte and took a sip.

Hayley gestured to her friend's latte mug. “But you like lattes and Beemers and expensive clothes. The only differences between you and ‘my people' is that you've got more of all those things—and you've actually got taste.”

Audra appeared to be fairly well assuaged by that statement. She put her hand up to her neck and ran her fingers over her Gucci necklace, making sure it was still properly positioned.

Suz elbowed Diane. “I thought she
was
a millionaire.”

“Maybe if she didn't spend so much.”

“Is a millionaire just someone who's made a million dollars? Or is it someone who could spend a million dollars no problem and still have money left over? A million dollars isn't what it used to be.”

Diane just shrugged. “Maybe she's just using the term ‘millionaire' as shorthand. Maybe she really means ‘multimillionaire.' ”

To her credit, Audra declined to supply any details of her undoubtedly bountiful wealth. She just sat back in her chair with a self-satisfied smile and seemed content to leave it at that.

“Well, I'm really sorry about your bonus, Aud,” Hayley said. She looked at Suz, a half smile on her face. “Looks like both Diane and Audra are experiencing some medium-grade distress. A little building tension, it seems. Do you have some anger you wish to express?”

Suz laughed. “Don't Bruno me. I'm fine. Although . . . Nah, I'm fine.”

Audra nudged Hayley with her shoulder. “I didn't mean to take it out on you. Venture capital used to be fun. Now it's depressing. I'm just mad at your industry, that's all. Not you.”

“Well, I guess you have a right to be mad at me about Bruno, anyway.” Hayley still felt bad about that. It would be awful if Bruno blamed Hayley's behavior on Audra.

“Well, you owe me,” Audra said. “So promise me just one thing. Sometime between now and drinks tomorrow night, I want you to just lie quietly and think about what Bruno asked you to do. Just imagine one small scenario.” Audra raised her arms and made sweeping gestures in the air. “Visualize success. Okay? Promise me you'll give it a try.”

“Okay, okay,” Hayley said, rolling her eyes. “I promise.”

S
he was a genius supermodel trying to save the world. Her name was Emma de la Fressange, but the boys just called her M. She needed only one letter. She was that good, with enough charisma, MENSA-level intelligence, and devastating beauty to blow away even the most jaded of men.

She stood six feet tall, with long blond hair and a body that stopped officers dead in their tracks. Some had even been known to seek medical attention from the MASH-unit ophthalmologist after making eye contact.

On Saturday nights she danced and sang in a pitch-perfect voice tinged with a foreign accent of unknown origin—French, perhaps?—in the hottest nightclub in the city just outside base boundaries. But her real job was as an expert marksman in a covert military operation sanctioned by the United Nations that mobilized only for extremely righteous purposes.

She'd go out on jungle missions in her black fatigues and combat boots, concealing her shining tresses under a black helmet, just
pining away for the love of the chief intelligence specialist as she shot the villains dead with her sniper gun.

He was a painfully handsome man, the chief intelligence specialist. A man with a tormented soul who was at this moment sitting shirtless in front of her by the campfire mixing up a pot of franks 'n' beans, his muscled chest gleaming in the light of the flames.

He was the American officer Lt. Grant Hutchinson. The one man she truly loved. The one man who didn't seem to know she existed.

Or did he?

Something was different about him tonight, she thought as he stopped stirring and walked around the campfire with his handcuffs in one hand and one eyebrow raised.

Would she like to practice special-intelligence search procedures? His voice was deep. Manly. She couldn't find the words to answer him, couldn't speak. She just raised her hands and let him carefully lock the handcuffs around her wrists, panting as his hands traveled down the planes of her perfect skin. He gently stripped her clothing off and slid his hand between her legs, his long fingers heading for the promised land.

It took him only sixteen seconds to take her where she needed to go; she came hard, just as the bells of a far-off native cathedral began to chime—

Brinnng!

Hayley sat straight up in bed, wide-eyed and breathing as if she'd just run a marathon . . . or something. She fanned her face with her hand to try to bring down the temperature.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at her hand. Did she actually orgasm? Or did she just dream an orgasm? Did that count?

The phone rang again. She leaned over to pick it up and looked at the clock, then shrugged. She'd napped practically the entire afternoon, but what the hell. The only thing on today's agenda was Martini Monday.

“ 'Lo?”

“Hello. I'm calling for Hayley Smith. This is Grant Hutchinson.” There was a pause as he apparently waited for her to remember him, during which Hayley leaned back against the headboard in shock. After a moment of silence, he added, “We know each other through Fred Leary.” And then he sort of chuckled.

There was another pause, during which he was probably wondering whether or not she had taken offense to the crack, but Hayley was now actually standing on the bed holding the phone out at arm's length in front of her with her right hand and doing the Tiger Woods victory fist pump with the other.

“Hello?”

She put the receiver back to her ear. “Oh, hi! This is Hayley.”

“Hey. Hope I'm not calling too early.”

“No, not at all. I'm just . . . I'm up. Up and about. I've been up for hours. That's right, um, getting an early start on the day, like I always do. What's up?”

“I've got two tickets to Friday's Giants game and I called to ask you if you'd like to go out to dinner first and then hit the stadium for the game.”

Boom. No dicking around. No idle chatter to warm up to the point. This was a man who knew what he wanted. . . and he wanted her. Unless . . . that thing about Fred. Wait a minute. “This is a date, right? No corpse?”

“This is a date. Just the two of us. Fred's not invited.”

Sense of humor confirmed! “In that case, I'd love to.” Hayley gave the thumbs up sign to the stuffed giraffe perched on the bureau at the far end of the room.

“Great. Do you like Italian?”

“Love it. Uh, what time? Where? Where do you want to meet?” She slapped her forehead and winced. She sounded like she'd never done this before.

“Uglioto's? I could pick you up at six.”

Within five minutes they'd very efficiently swapped addresses and Grant had hung up. The whole thing happened so fast, Hayley was left a little stunned, dangling the receiver by its cord. Very slowly she bent down and hung up the phone.

And then the enormity of the situation dawned on her. “Yeeeessss! Visualize success, baby.”

Oh, my God, it works!

• • •

Hayley raced into the swanky downtown martini bar, roughly grabbed Audra's head, and planted a kiss on her friend's perfect hair. “It works, it works!”

“My God, what on earth are you wearing? It's . . . it's . . . ugh.” Audra recoiled into the back of her chair. One hand attempted to smooth down her hair; the other moved to cover her mouth as she swallowed convulsively.

“It's a muscle T. Drove over and bought one from Bruno on my way here. They'd just closed up for the day. Had to pound on the door for a while before they'd let me in but what the hell, I'm just happy it comes in black.”

“It's disgusting. The armholes are too large. I can see your bra.”

Suz reached over and held the T-shirt taut. “ ‘Visualize success.' Oh, boy. Do tell.”

“Ooh! Is that my drink?” Without waiting for an answer, Hayley took a big gulp of apple martini.

“Uh, go easy on that, Hayley,” Diane said. She smoothed a hand over the front of a hooded maroon fleece, which was clearly a new addition to her sweatshirt wardrobe, and added, “Man,
I
wouldn't even wear that.”

Hayley ignored her. “Wonderfully, fabulously delicious.” She grinned, then pulled the cocktail glass toward her and took another giant swig, looking up in time to see the girls exchanging amused glances.

“How's it going with you all? As you can see, things are just dandy with me.” She nudged Audra with her shoulder. “I owe you one. Bruno's a goddamn genius.”

“I know.” Audra smiled, but she was obviously conflicted. She seemed quite pleased that Bruno was responsible for Hayley's mystery success, but she hadn't recovered from the muscle T and was half shading her face away from Hayley with her hand. Her loyalty to the guru clearly did not extend to his wardrobe. “Well, don't keep us waiting. What happened?”

Hayley savored the moment. Very slowly and very deliberately she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “Grant Hutchinson asked me out for Friday night.”

Audra forgot about Hayley's shirt—and apparently her competition with Suz—and shrieked jubilantly.

Hayley nodded. “That's right. Grant is the guy. He's the One. This has multiple date potential, at the very least. I just know it.” She paused, then added, “Okay, well, ‘the One,' maybe that's a little
strong. The point is, I have a date on Friday night. I am now a girl with a date on Friday night.”

“Well, this is terrific news,” Suz said. Hayley produced her most brilliant smile. But then Suz went on to say matter-of-factly, “Can't say I'm surprised. You played it just right. You already went to third base. That's like a guarantee.”

Hayley deflated slightly. “What? That's not how this all came together. What happened between me and Grant in the office . . .” Her thoughts got garbled and she huffed. “Going to third base does not guarantee anything.”

“It does when I'm involved.”

“What exactly does third base consist of? Is there an actual definition?” Diane asked.

“If it were a guarantee, Suz, then why was I even concerned for one minute about whether or not he'd ask me out?”

Suz lackadaisically set down her drink and made a big show of checking out the bar crowd for fresh prey. “You were supposed to ask
him
out.”

“You have no logic in your arguments.” Hayley shook her head in disbelief. “They're just like crazy little sentences that come out of your mouth to confuse people.” She looked at Audra and Diane for backup. They looked thoroughly amused, but no backup appeared to be forthcoming.

Hayley turned back to Suz. “You're suggesting that he asked me out because I gave him enough for him to know that I'll sleep with him?”

“Well, you do plan to sleep with him, don't you?”

“Well, yes, but that's hardly the point.”

“Isn't it?”

“Maybe in your universe. Insult me if you must,” Hayley said,
looking pointedly at Suz. “But
I
am a girl with a
date
on Friday night. And
you
are merely a girl with a Friday night.”

“She may not have a date, but she'll probably have a guy,” Diane noted with a laugh.

Suz and Hayley ignored her.

“Don't get all testy, Hayley,” Suz said. “We just don't want to see you disappointed with the long-term outcome.”

Hayley gaped. “You'd think you could be happy for me. You're all just jealous.”

“Absolutely,” Suz said. “The guy is hot. I'm hugely jealous. I've always been partial to the police baton fantasy. I'm usually lying facedown in satin hot pants across some policeman's lap. He takes his baton and—”

“I know
I'm
jealous,” Audra interrupted. “And I haven't even seen him.” She lowered her gaze and whispered almost belligerently, “I've always wanted to make love to a man wearing a police uniform.”

Suz choked on her martini.

Diane thumped Suz on the back, nodding. “I may not be on the prowl right now, but from what Suz told us, I wouldn't kick him out of my bed. Make no mistake: We're all completely jealous.”

“Oh. Well, in that case. Fine.” Placated, Hayley relaxed back into her chair, sipped at her drink more moderately, and let the high of Grant's call settle back in.

“I got-ta daaate, I got-ta daaate,” she chanted. Then she paused, pointed across the table at Diane and Suz, did a little shoulder shimmy, and chanted a little more. “That's right. I got-ta daaate . . . I got-ta daaate . . . with someone I actually want to daaate . . .”

The girls winced at Hayley's cadence-challenged ode to the joys of dating, but Diane said, “Let her enjoy it while it lasts. She's interviewing for that new job tomorrow, and who knows what's going to happen with that.”

Hayley stopped chanting. “I heard that. I'm not going to take it if it's just the same old thing.”

“Do you want to practice for the interview?” Audra asked hopefully.

Hayley looked at her as if she were crazy. “Are you kidding? I can't think about
that
. I need to start preparing for my date. Maybe later.”

Suz opened her bag, fished around, and pulled out a fistful of condom strips, which she dumped next to Hayley's cocktail glass. “Here. Now you're prepared.”

Audra whipped out the bar menu and opened it up to shield Suz from the other patrons. “For God's sake.”

“That's not what I meant.” Hayley turned red and hastily pushed the condoms back at Suz. “I was thinking more along the lines of a haircut.” She frowned, now mentally reviewing the contents of her closet. “I've already got those great shoes I need to amortize some more. Just not sure what I'm going to wear with them.”

Diane picked up one of the condom strips. “Aren't you on the pill?”

“Why would I be on the pill?” Hayley asked. “And don't make me state the obvious.”

“I'm on the pill to regularize my cycle.”

“What a waste!” Suz giggled.

Diane looked at her pityingly. “You are woefully oversexed to
the point where I think it's depleting your brain cells. You just sit there giggling like a loony. I'm almost positive it's from being manhandled so often.”

Suz turned away from Diane back to Hayley. “So how far are you planning to go?” she asked.

“Well, as far as he can.” Hayley snorted, quite pleased with her own joke.

“No, I mean do you think he's a one-position guy or a two-positioner?”

Audra made an exasperated sound.

“Uh.” Hayley looked at Diane for translation, but she just shrugged. “Is this something I need to plan ahead for? Usually I find that the less I'm actually thinking about what I'm doing when I'm having sex the more successful I am at having it.”

“Well, let us know. If he turns out to be a two-plus-position guy at the first go, he might be a keeper. You want someone without too many inhibitions for the long haul,” Suz explained.