36. Kate
Chapter Thirty-Six
KATE
In the morning, Kate and I sit in her dad’s gourmet kitchen, sipping our coffee when the doorbell rings. She grins and hops off her seat. “It’s here!”
“What’s here?” I ask and follow her to the door. Outside, a man wearing what looks like a delivery uniform with a baseball cap hands her a set of keys, and asks her to sign a few forms. When she’s done, he nods and takes off.
“I got a surprise for you,” she says, and waves me to follow her out to the curb where she stops in front of a shiny black motorbike. Whoa.
“Is this for me?”
“Yes, for the week anyway. It’s a rental. What do you think, James Dean?”
Grinning, I grab her by the waist and kiss her beautiful lips. “You’re the best, Kate. Don’t you ever forget it.”
I ride the bike Uptown to the gallery with Kate perched on the back and my portfolio in tow. I’m not sure if it’s having Kate hugging onto me, driving on the wrong side of the road, or the fact that I’ve agreed to be judged by a New York gallerina, but my heart is racing.
We walk into the steel-framed gallery on the first floor of a tall brick building. Wired sculptures sit in the window as if keeping watch. My palms are damp and slick against the steel door handle. I blame the summer heat.
Stark-white walls display imaginative, expressionist paintings that look like glimpses of someone’s dream. Many of them have sold judging from the display cards. Good for the artist. Will my photographs sell too? That is if she wants them. My stomach tightens. Have I made a mistake agreeing to come here?
“Kate, there you are!” A woman with dark red lipstick and black glasses calls out. She looks at me and extends her hand. “You must be Drew Blake.”
“Yes, and you must be Olivia. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” She tilts her head with a toothy smile. “Kate has excellent taste. Plus, I hear you’ve had first-rate training. How do you even get an apprenticeship with Ferguson Burke?”
The corners of my mouth twitch. I don’t want to tell her that it’s because my dad’s a knighted billionaire with connections around the globe. Not that he encouraged it. “It’s a long story. But I will say this, he’s absolutely brilliant, but he’s a right pain in the ass.”
Olivia shoots me a wry glance. “All the brilliant ones are.”
“Drew’s brilliant, but he’s not a pain,” Kate says playing the role of my biggest fan, and I smile. At the moment, I’m hers too.
“Let’s have a look.”
We follow Olivia back to her office and take a seat on the translucent acrylic chairs in front of her matching desk. “May I see your portfolio?” she asks.
I hand it over, and sweat beads on my palms as she flips page after page after page in complete silence. Taking her glasses on and off, she squints, turning the portfolio to view other angles. What is she doing? What is she seeing? What is she not seeing? Every second she doesn’t say a word, my heart beats louder and louder in my chest like the damn tell-tale heart.
Kate sends me a sexy wink. She’s not the least bit apprehensive about the situation. Why would she be? Her work isn’t being scrutinized. I take a cue from her and take a deep breath.
Finally, the gallery curator looks up, carefully closing the leather portfolio. “Stunning,” she says simply.
“Really?” I ask, my pitch way higher than usual.
“Yes, Kate’s right. I can see a little bit of the Burke influence, but only because I know about it. It’s very subtle.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. Why did I think this was going to hurt?
“How would you like to be showcased in a show we’re hosting next month?” Olivia asks, and my heart jumps into my throat. Okay, showing her is one thing but putting them on display for the New York art crowd is another. “Five pieces will be great. We should be able to sell them all.”
I open my mouth slowly, half fearful that vomit will come spewing out in place of words. “Did you say sell?”
She goes from staring at me like I’m a brilliant artist not unlike Ferguson Burke to glaring at me like I’m a total nutter. “Yes, we have to keep the lights on somehow.”
“Right, of course. I just never planned this,” I say, swallowing a nervous lump in my throat. Kate grabs my mildly trembling hand and squeezes it.
Olivia offers a tight-lipped smile. “Life is full of unexpected surprises, and I think it’s time you make your debut in the world.”
She shares the rest of the details about the show, but my adrenaline is pumping so much that I can hardly concentrate. In six weeks, my work will be on these gallery walls. I practically float out of there. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I never thought this would ever feel right but now it does.
“So . . .” Kate starts when we’re out on the sidewalk.
I take a deep, refreshing inhale. “So, what?”
“I told you so, I told you so, I told you so!” she sings, wiggling her shoulders.
“Okay, okay. You were right,” I say with flushed cheeks. Who am I right now?
She crinkles that cute nose of hers. “You’re damn right I was! And it’s really hot that you’re man enough to admit it.”
“Mmm,” I growl, pulling her in for an R-rated kiss. “I guess this means I’ll be back in New York soon.”
“Me too. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Ah, now I have two things to look forward to.” I pull her in at the waist, attaching the side of her hip to mine, and we head back to the motorbike. I could get used to being in this city with her.
Kate has the rest of the day free and we spend it cruising over the bridges and riding around the other boroughs. In the evening, she’s planned what she calls a classic night on the town. I blast my Best of Billy Joel mix through the speakers as we get ready for our date. I peek in on Kate who’s dressed in a silky kimono robe and finishing up her makeup. I lean in the doorway and gaze at her beautiful reflection in the mirror. She smiles back at me and swipes her lashes.
“What?” she asks, cheeks slightly pink.
“Nothing. Just enjoying the view,” I say, and she giggles. “I really loved today.”
Manhattan is much more magical with Kate by my side. As I watch her in the bathroom mirror, prettying herself even more, it begins to settle in. I don’t think it’s just the day that I love. This feeling I have is so new. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
“I did too,” she says. “It’s not over yet.”
But it will be over soon. What happens next? How do I keep this going? How do I keep Kate?
I finish buttoning my crisp, white shirt, trading my leather jacket for a suit jacket. Kate’s still getting dressed, so I wander downstairs to the front room with the baby grand near the window. I settle in and begin playing, feeling the weight of the keys beneath my fingertips. The sound is smooth as I play “New York State of Mind”, and the melody seems to penetrate my entire being. Just like Kate.
She glides in, pulling my attention. My jaw goes slack, and I release my hands from the keys. She’s wearing a short, black lace dress with a neckline that plunges all the way to her belly button.
“Oh, baby,” I say playfully, but it’s no joke. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through dinner with you in that dress.”
She blushes and spins around. A silver zip trails right down her back. “You like it?”
Like it? We haven’t left the house and already I want to skip to the end of our date so I can pull that zip and watch that dress fall to her heels. “I love it.”
“And I love the way you were just playing the piano. I didn’t know you played.”
“I do. A little.”
“Sounded like more than a little.” Kate walks over and runs her finger along the shiny black finish. “I love that song. Can you play it again?”
“Sure.” I smile and start from the top, praying I remember all of the keys in the right order. So far so good. She leans on the piano and watches me. Then, a single tear falls down her cheek. It’s enough to stop me from playing. “What’s the matter?”
She flicks it away. “Nothing. This just reminds me of my parents. My mom.”
I rise from the bench and bring her into my arms, holding her close, but say nothing. I’m not sure what I believe about the afterlife but in this moment, I wonder if our mothers are watching over us. What would they say about our union?
Kate steps back, sniffing away her tears, and says, “You look like Bruce Wayne.” She obviously wants to move on, so I oblige and play up the role by flashing my cufflinks.
“Who do you like better, James Dean or Bruce Wayne?”
She runs her thumb along my chin. “I like Just Drew better.”
“Good answer,” I say, and bring her in for a kiss.
With her floral perfume, she smells like a garden of ecstasy. She pulls me closer, and moans in my mouth. My entire body wakes up. Forget New York, I’m in a Kate Golden state of mind. I trail my finger down her chest, all the way to her thigh, and begin to come up beneath her lacy hem to that cozy paradise between her legs.
“Uh-uh-uh,” she says, swerving her hips back. “Dessert is for later. C’mon, let’s get a cocktail before dinner.”
We ride the bike to the East Side, and enjoy a set of cocktails at a stylish pub—I mean bar. Then, we head Uptown for an incredible stake dinner, sharing a bottle of red wine. Our conversation is about nothing and everything. Life feels so easy when we’re gazing into each other’s eyes in the ambient lighting and laughing along the way.
She’s in such a good mood that she’s giggling like a schoolgirl when we get out onto the sidewalk. “Isn’t New York the best?” She throws her hands in the air.
“It is.”
“C’mere, I want to remember this.” Kate pulls me close, readies her phone for a selfie, and snaps a photo. Both of us grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh, my God! Look at my hair!” She laughs and smooths her hair back. “This humidity is crazy.”
I look at her dark strands, a little wild but she still beautiful. Happy smile, happy hair. “I like your hair like this. It’s sexy.”
She narrows her eyes playfully. “Do you think everything about me is sexy?”
“I do.”
“Well, right back ‘atcha.” She taps the tip of my nose, and now I’m sure the drinks have hit her. She’s cute when she’s buzzed. She’s not the only one who’s had a few too many, so we agree to leave the bike on the street and hail a cab back to the West Village.
In the dark cab ride home, we can’t manage to keep our hands off of each other. She’s too shy to snog in front of the driver, which makes her an even more adorable tease. We spend the twenty-minute ride whispering in each other’s ear, all the dirty things we plan to do to each other later. Things she doesn’t want the driver to hear.
Our mouths are locked together as we push our way through her front door, and we slam it shut. She tears my jacket off my shoulders, and my fingers finally get to touch that magical silver zip at her back.
“Wait!” She pulls away. “How drunk are you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know . . .”
She treks into the living room and plugs her phone into the stereo system. “Are you drunk enough for this?”
Latin-style drums ting and tong a familiar beat, and that ‘70s disco melody courses through the room. Oh, my God. It’s . . .
“That’s right ‘Copacabana.’” She sways her hips and shoulders like a mambo dancer while my face turns bright red as I drop my head in my hands.
“C’mon, we got to dance to my drunk song. It’s your turn now, you Fanilow!” She has zero shame as she shimmies her shoulders.
“Did you just call me a Fanilow?”
“Oh, yes I did. Now get over here.” My girl grabs my hand, swinging my arm around to-and-fro in an adorable attempt to get me to move. I plant my feet firmly on the floor. I’m not that drunk.
“Drew! You’re not dancing!”
How is she so insanely gorgeous, even when dancing to “Copacabana”? And then it really hits me. Like the most beautiful ton of brownstone bricks. If I can love her dancing to “Copacabana,” then it must be real.
I take a deep breath, then tug her arm and she spins into me. My feet pick up the beat in a merengue-style move. I press my forehead to hers, gazing into her sparkling eyes. She screams in excitement and it takes everything I have to hold my straight face. I twirl her around, then grab her hips. Swishing them side to side, I drop down, my nose grazing the exposed skin between her soft breasts.
She throws her head back, giggling. “Okay, Swayze!”
“We’re dirty dancing now,” I say, laughing.
The song comes to a close, and Kate jumps, clapping her hands like I’ve just performed a mind-blowing magic trick. “That’s it. I can die a happy woman now.” She laughs that beautifully radiant laugh like nothing can be wrong in the world.
If that’s all I need to do to keep her happy, I’ll dance every night. She catches her breath and our eyes meet. Now, it’s time to make our own music.
“I get to pick the next song,” I say, walking over to the stereo. And as soon as the tune changes, the mood changes, and I can finally pull that zip all the way down.