Eye Candy

  "Mom," I said sharply, my tolerance for anyone else's problems Thin Mint thin at the moment, "listen to me. Dad is not having an affair. Now tell me what's really the matter."

  Several silent moments passed before she quietly ventured, "I don't like sailing."

  My shoulders sagged, thankful the problem was nothing worse than realizing she wasn't cut out for the life of a sailor. "That's not the end of the world."

  "I know." Her voice already sounded better, all signs of tears gone. "It's just that your father seems to be enjoying himself and I'm miserable. I hate water. I hate the sun. And I especially hate the endless parade of canned foods I have to cook because our refrigerator is the size of an ice cube."

  "Tell him that. He'll understand."

  "Maybe you're right, but—"

  "What if he feels the same way?" I offered. "What if he's just too proud to tell you his great retirement plan is a big flop? You'll never know if you don't talk it out."

  Mom's sigh carried across hundreds of miles. "I know, it's just that... no, you're right. How did you get so smart?"

  "Years of practice with other people's problems."

  Too bad that experience didn't apply to my own.

  "Is everything alright with you, dear? You sound a little worn down yourself."

  For a split second I thought about gushing. Spouting out all the things that had gone wrong in the last few weeks and hoping that mothers really did have all the answers. But this was my life. My problems. I had to work them out on my own.

  "Just jetlag." If only. A six hour time change was the least of my worries. "I just need a cup of hot tea and a good night's sleep."

  "Alright," Mom said, sounding unsatisfied but recognizing that I wasn't looking for help, "call me when you're feeling better."

  "Will do."

  Hopefully, that would be sometime before the next ice age.

  "You are a genius, Lydia."

  I stared at the cordless receiver in my hand, wondering if my phone had some fancy new computer chip that allowed only bizarre calls to ring through.

  "Ferrero?" I asked, incredulous that he would be calling me at all, let alone phoning to call me a genius.

  "Pre-sales on the Fall collection are through the roof." His Italian accent was gone, South Jersey coming through loud and clear. "Thanks to you."

  "What do you mean?"

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen and mind-clearing cup of peppermint tea.

  "Your publicity stunt worked," he continued. "The press ate it up like Godiva, plastering my name on every rag sheet from here to Tokyo."

  "Publicity stunt?"

  I squinted at the clock on my stove. 6:15. Maybe I needed to unplug my phone at night. None of these early morning conversations ever made sense.

  "Denouncing my Italian identity at the after party in front of everyone." He sounded delighted. "Brilliant!"

  "Ferrero, it's too early for this kind of confusion." I set a cup of hot water in the microwave and punched it on for ninety seconds. "What are you talking about?"

  "Lydia, darling, every newspaper in the world covered my party—and my collection—because you outed me in public. There is no such thing as bad press. Our stock doubled over the weekend."

  "Oh."

  The microwave beeped and I rushed to pour the boiling water over the tea bag in my coffee mug. While it steeped I inhaled the wakening aroma of peppermint, praying it notched my alertness up a level.

  "And it's not early," he added, "it's late."

  Bent over the counter to sniff my tea, I had a closer view of the clock and made out the tiny P next to the time. Jetlag must have hit harder than I thought.

  "So you're not mad at me anymore?" I deduced.

  "Mad?" Ferrero squealed. "I adore you!"

  "Oh." If I weren't so exhausted I might have been happy about that. "That's good."

  Deeming my tea steeped enough to drink—and my brain desperate enough to endure weak tea—I swallowed a tingling gulp.

  "Have you decided about the creative position?"

  "The job? I didn't know the offer was still open."

  "Of course it is."

  Though peppermint was supposed to calm upset stomachs, mine clenched. Yet another decision to make.

  "I'll let you know by Friday," I offered. By then my brain might have stopped spinning.

  "So Ferrero loves you again?" Bethany asked.

  When my enthusiasm level upon returning from Italy hadn't measured up, she and Fiona called an emergency Wednesday night meeting at Sweet Spot.

  "Yes. He even still wants me to hire on as Accessories Designer."

  "And Gavin still loves you?" Fiona tapped the stainless steel tabletop with a matching silver fingernail.

  "Yes," I moaned. This was nothing I hadn't been over a billion times in the last two days. "He always has."

  "Phelps too?" Bethany made a note on the rose-colored notepad in front of her.

  "It's Elliot, actually."

  "You call him by his last name?"

  "No," I explained, throwing a scowl Fiona's way for not telling me in the first place, "his real name is Elliot Phelps. Phelps Elliot is just his professional name."

  "Hey," Fiona returned, hands raised is a defensive gesture, "I didn't think it'd come up. How was I to know he would fall in love with you?"

  "Anyway," Bethany interrupted, "Phelps or Elliot or whoever loves you too?"

  I nodded. My eyes blurred as I stared at the untouched Lemon Drop on the table. Fiona was certain my problem was nothing that couldn't be solved by a girls' night out and buckets of vodka. Noticing that my ice had melted, she grabbed the drink and headed for the bar.

  "You love them both?" Beth's voice softened. "You're in love with them both?"

  I nodded again.

  "But they're so different."

  "I know. That's why I love them both." My heart thudded in despair. "That's why I can't choose."

  "Well, here's the deal," she asserted, laying it all out for me. "Either you choose one or you lose them both. So let's figure this out."

  Fiona returned to the table and set down the glass as she sat. "Start with Pros and Cons. What's good about Gavin?"

  "He's kind, considerate, and reliable. Established and successful. Ready to settle down." I watched Bethany take copious notes as I evaluated Gavin like a prize pig. I remembered the special order lemon semifreddo and how considerate he was of my feelings. "He remembers all the little things and he makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside."

  "Okay." Beth scribbled the last of the Pros in Gavin's column. "What stinks about him?"

  "Well..." I opened my mind to an objective imagination of what life would be like with him. "He likes to plan. Likes to have things go his way. And he lives by routine. Things could get a little dull. And most of the time he's emotionally reserved."

  "Not in touch with his feminine side, huh?" Fiona appeared to ponder my two lists, absently raising my drink to her lips and guzzling.

  "Phelps?" Bethany prodded.

  "Pros," Fiona gasped as she choked on the sour vodka.

  "He's exciting. Surprising. Spontaneous." I smiled at the thought of whipping around Southampton on Daffy and cruising Lake Como after dark. "He's always up for fun and adventure. He shakes things up."

  And when I thought about his kisses, my entire body burned.

  Bethany grinned. "Not to mention he obviously lights your fire. Does he have any Cons?"

  "Oh yes," I hastily answered. "He's reckless. Has no ambition or definitive plans for the future. And," I added, drawing out the word with extra importance, "he's younger than me."

  "That should be a Pro." Fiona grinned wickedly.

  "Where does this list get us, sugar?"

  Bethany pushed the pink pad across the table. In her feminine script were outlined Gavin and Elliot in all their glories and flaws. The truth was, none if it made a difference. Feelings weren't something you could outline on a shee
t of paper. They came from deep inside. That was where I would find my answer.

  In the background I heard Fiona order another drink and sensed Bethany take the list and tuck it back into her purse.

  Despondency sank its teeth into me, right into my heart.

  Tears filled my eyes.

  "What," Fiona asked, pushing the fresh Lemon Drop in front of me, "are you going to do?"

  I stared at the drink as if I could find my answer there.

  If only I could read ice cubes like fortunetellers read tea leaves. But in the end, all I saw was frozen water and vodka. And more problems than answers.

  "Honestly," I said as I pushed the drink away, "I just don't know."

  This was the hardest decision I had ever faced. In a perfect world I’d get to choose them both.

  If you think Lydia should choose Gavin turn to this page.

  If you think she should choose Elliot turn to this page.

  24

  Q: What did one heart say to the other?

  A: Beat that.

  — Laffy Taffy Joke #119

  Gavin sighed as the elevator dropped him off at his apartment. It had been a long day. A long week. A long life.

  He hadn't seen Lydia since she passed beyond the first class curtain on the flight back to New York. Not in the flesh, anyway. At night, her image haunted his dreams. During the day she filled his every thought.

  His heart hurt for missing her.

  Though he knew it was the right thing to do—for all of them—he wished he could take back that last night in Milan. The ultimatum he and Elliot had laid out was supposed to end their suffering. But instead, almost a week later, it had only multiplied his pain.

  He couldn't take it anymore.

  Grabbing the cordless phone from the living room, he strolled into the den, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his jacket. He ditched his briefcase in the corner and collapsed into the welcoming chair behind his desk.

  Eyes closed, he slowly massaged his temples with one hand, phone still clutched in the other. Thank God it was Friday.

  And he'd waited long enough.

  He punched the number into the phone and waited while the call connected. The phone had just double-beeped, signaling the call was about to go through, when his gaze fell on the display case next to his desk.

  Still empty when he left for work that morning, now a colorful object caught his eye amid the plain velvet lining.

  Heart pounding, he clicked off the phone and leapt to his feet. There, on the rectangular lift in the center where his book should be was a bright yellow box of Everlasting Gobstoppers.

  "Lydia," he whispered.

  Hope bubbled inside him.

  He quickly hit redial on the phone, impatient for it to ring. When it did, he heard the faint refrain of "Lollipop Lollipop" coming from the back hall. As the phone continued to ring, the song grew louder and louder until it sounded just outside the door.

  Then it stopped.

  Gavin crossed to the closed door, phone pressed to his ear.

  "Lydia?"

  "Hello, Gavin."

  Her voice came from both directions.

  "Was there something you wanted to tell me?" he asked.

  "Well, yes," she answered, "actually there was."

  When she didn't elaborate, he encouraged her. "Go on."

  "Oh, well, you see—" she drawled.

  Movement caught his eye and he watched as the door handle slowly turned.

  "—I think you should know—"

  The latch clicked and the door opened just enough to clear the strike plate.

  "—I still have a key to your apartment."

  Gavin held his breath, but the door didn't move.

  "Is that all?" he asked.

  "No," she whispered, "there's more."

  Slowly, like molasses in winter, the door inched open. He stepped to the side, allowing it to open completely. Lydia, beautiful and heartbreakingly hesitant, closed her phone met his gaze.

  "I think you should know—"

  She stepped forward into the den, not stopping until only inches separated them. Gavin reached out, needing to touch her, and traced his fingers over her cheek.

  "—that I love you."

  "Thank God," he groaned as he pulled her into his arms. "I don't think I could have lived without you any longer."

  He found her lips and took that promise from her in a kiss. It felt like forever since he'd held her like this; since he felt hope for their future and all-around contentment. She melted in his arms like a wet noodle and he knew she felt all the same things.

  Reluctantly pulling back, he also knew they needed to have a nice long talk before a nice long night in his king-size bed.

  Grinning because he couldn't help it, he asked, "What took you so long?"

  "I had a lot to sift through," she murmured.

  Afraid she might have some lingering doubt, he ducked his head and studied her glowing hazel eyes. Open, honest, and centers glittering gold with absolute certainty.

  Relieved, he agreed, "Yeah, I guess you did."

  Lydia laid her head on his shoulder, and he breathed in the vanilla sugar aroma of her perfume. He'd missed that scent; even resorting to hunting down the brand at Macy's and buying a little sachet he kept under his pillow. Now he had the real thing.

  The poor sachet didn't compare.

  "I'm glad you finally came around," he confessed as he pressed kisses across her forehead. She tasted as sweet as she smelled.

  "Hey," he accused, remembering how this whole reunion began, "not that I don't appreciate the gesture—" He turned into the room and gestured at the display case. "—but when did my book turn into a box of candy?"

  "It didn't, silly," she admonished. But a tell-tale blush crept onto her delicate cheeks, suggesting she felt a little guilty. "The book is safely hidden away in my office at Ferrero."

  Recognizing the career choice as the other major decision on her mind, he wondered if that meant she had made her choice. "Does that mean you took the creative position?"

  She nodded. "I start on Monday. New position, new division, new title. I'm going to be Guest Designer, which means my name will appear beneath Ferrero's on every piece I design. That way, when I go out on my own I'll have some name recognition already."

  Her words became hesitant at the end. Gavin could sense her concern, worried about his reaction. When I go out on my own, she'd said. Not if. She was afraid he would disapprove of her leaving the security of an established position for the uncertain future of an independent line.

  She was wrong.

  "Sounds like the perfect plan." He made sure he sounded as sure and reassuring as he felt. "But I know your name will end up plastered on billboards in Times Square, recognition or not. Talent has a way of rising to the top."

  Clearly, he said just the right thing because she beamed and threw her arms around him.

  "You're wonderful," she exclaimed.

  "I know."

  Without warning, she extricated herself from his arms and bounded over to the display case. "Your book will be home on Monday." She popped open the lid and studied the contents. "I just wanted you to know how I felt."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, Gobstoppers," she began, blushing and not meeting his gaze, "they're Everlasting. Like your love." Finally looking up, she met his gaze squarely. "Like mine."

  Her attention returned to the case. She slipped a hand inside and stroked the yellow cardboard with a reverent touch. When she wrapped her fingers around the box and removed it, Gavin joined her and covered her hand with his to stop her.

  "Leave it."

  She looked up, startled. "But your book—"

  "—can find another home," he finished.

  "Maybe they can share the space?" That smile he loved spread across her pink lips. "Our kids should learn to live together in harmony."

  "Candy and a rare and seminal work of American history?" He shook his head in mock disgust. "She m
ight corrupt him."

  "He might elevate her," Lydia offered. "After all, she loves him very much. She wouldn't want to live without him, you know."

  Gavin collapsed into his leather chair and pulled her down on his lap. "I wish you'd figured that out two years ago."

  "I couldn't have." She looked at him, earnest and determined. "I didn't love you then."

  "How could you not—"

  "I didn't know you, Gavin. Not really."

  Relaxing, she squirmed into a more comfortable position and settled against his chest. Her hands, however, did not settle. They roamed over his chest, making him wish the talking was over and his shirt would evaporate.

  Lydia continued. "I only knew what I saw you to be: attractive, successful, and interested in me."

  "Aren't I still all those things?"

  "Of course. But now I know how much more there is to you. You're not just the glossy picture on the cover of GQ. You like the symphony and romantic dinners and you're the whole package, Gavin Fairchild." Her hand came to rest on his waistband. "And I love you."

  "Good, because you're stuck with me."

  "Like Bubble Yum on the bottom of my shoe?" she asked, wicked humor glinting in her hazel eyes.

  "Like a wet lollipop on your window."

  "Mmm mmm, yummy." She lifted up and nibbled at his jaw line, sending little sparks of electricity along every nerve in his body. "Can I have a lick?"

  "Anytime," he ground out as her nibbles moved closer and closer to his mouth.

  The last thing Gavin heard before her mouth met his was, "I love candy."

  24

  Q: What did the ignition say to the car?

  A: You really turn me on.

  — Laffy Taffy Joke #133

  Elliot hated attending these vacuous society events. Everyone dressed in clothes that cost enough to feed starving families for a generation, all in the name of raising money for some trendy cause on another. The choking stench of hypocrisy nearly overwhelmed him.

  The only thing worse than attending one, was working one. Which he was doing tonight.

  Some young, up-and-coming designer had hired a dozen professionals to model his wares at the event to show everyone how beautiful people looked in his clothes and to start the buzz about his new collection. Elliot felt like a walking mannequin.