11 Chapter 11

Beatrice

I sniff. "I'm not crying," I tell Rock, as we walk toward the elevators.

He looks down at me and studies my face. "Are you crying?"

"A little, but it's not because of Cole."

Rock puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side as we walk. "Mr. Temporary has made a million women cry. I'm not shocked."

"A million women?" A million is a lot of women. If he broke their hearts, then it's no surprise he would break mine.

"Did he take you to the Longhorn room?"

"Excuse me? That's a little personal."

Rock pushes the elevator call button. He arches an eyebrow at me and laughs. "Oh I get it. Longhorn. No, that wasn't a euphemism. I meant did he take you to the Longhorn? That's where he takes his ladies. It's an inn and a restaurant."

"No. He took me to his house."

The elevator arrives, and I enter. "No, he didn't," Rock says.

"Yes, he did."

"No, he didn't. Cole's house is his sanctum. No girlfriends allowed. Only family and dearest friends. I used to go there before you know what."

I've no idea what, but I only care about the first part of what he said. "No girlfriends?"

"Not since I've known him, and I've known him since we were in diapers. Did he really take you there?"

"Yes. He has a giant refrigerator just for soda."

The elevator doors open, and I walk out. Rock's mouth has dropped open. "Holy shit. He brought you to his house. That's a first. Wow, Cole's finally got it bad. Who'd have thunk it? Oh my God, this is going to be so good."

I slip my key card into the door lock and give Rock a good look. "Who are you?"

"Ex-friend of Cole. Current friend of Bessie. I develop land, play the stock market and other things. And I've been drafted into Operation Billionaire."

"What?"

I walk into the room, and everyone is sitting around, facing me, as if they've bought tickets to my return and have been waiting for me the whole time. Rosalind stands and marches to me in her pumps and inspects my face.

"She did it!" she announces, triumphantly. "We're looking at post-sex face, ladies and gentleman."

Olivia and Diane do a high five, and Bessie dances a jig.

There's general jubilation about my sex life. It's a communal celebration about me doing the dirty deed.

"I...I...I'm going to take a shower," I say, mortified.

"She's going to take a shower! She's going to wash her body! You know what that means!" Olivia cries, overjoyed. Then, she gets an eyeful of Rock and seems to forget about my sex life. "Hello, Rock," she says, dragging his name out for a few seconds. She turns sideways, and gives him her profile, like she's a catalog model.

Rocks smiles back at her, giving Olivia his best hot and handsome face, but then the kids draw his attention, and he flinches. Uh oh. It doesn't look like Rock's a family man. In fact, he might be allergic to kids because he's scratching the back of his neck with a panicked expression on his face and a glance toward the door. Bessie seems to catch it, too, and she takes his hand and leads him to the loveseat, where she sits down next to him and holds his hand in hers, probably to give him a sense of security in the face of small people who need a lot of attention and would probably put a huge dent in Rock's socializing plans if they were given half a chance.

I wonder if Cole would be afraid of children, too. He does help abused horses, but he has a staff to help him, and horses don't talk back.

"I'm going to take a shower. Diane, did the hotel restock the Toblerone supply?" I ask her.

"Uh," she says and puts a protective hand over the pocket of her housedress.

"Diane," I say, threateningly.

"Okay. Okay. They restocked our supply this morning."

She empties her pocket full of Toblerones and hands them to me.

"I'll be in the shower," I announce.

The suite has three bathrooms. I step into the one in my room, close the door behind me, and take a deep breath. I've been riding an emotional rollercoaster, and I'm exhausted from it. I strip down and turn on the water. The shower is the large, open kind with one shower head attached to the ceiling and two more on opposite walls. I stand and let the water beat down on my body from three angles. It's heaven.

The hot water and the time alone is just what I need to clear my head. I start a plan to rebuild my credit rating and my appliance collection. I wonder if Rosalind will let me move in with her until I get back on my feet. One thing is certain: Operation Billionaire is kaput. I can't play around with my heart, especially not where Cole is concerned.

"Everything's going to plan," I hear and open my eyes. Rosalind has walked in and sits on the closed toilet and crosses her legs.

"I'm naked," I say.

"What's your point? Okay, so we're heading into phase two, and the Rock addition is like a gift from God."

I squeeze shampoo onto my hand and lather my hair. "Cole's not a commitment guy. He told me he's a seven days and done guy."

"Bessie told me that he's never taken a woman to his house before. He's hooked, and it's right on time. Now we need to play hard to get and insert some competition. Rock obviously gets under Cole's skin, so he's perfect. And willing. So, there's that."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask and get shampoo in my eyes. "Damn it, my eyes."

"Rock is taking you to a dinner party tonight, and Cole will be there," I hear. It's Olivia, and she sits on the counter. "Isn't Rock wonderful? I think he's so wonderful."

"Why don't you go out with him?" I ask her.

Olivia glances at Rosalind, who shoots her death eyes. "We haven't run a background check on Rock, yet," Rosalind says. "Besides, we're doing you first. Then, it's Olivia's turn."

"I'd like to find a billionaire who's had a vasectomy. I wonder if Rock's had a vasectomy," Olivia says.

The door opens, again. "What's happening in here? Penis talk?" Bessie asks, walking into the bathroom. "Holy smokes, Beatrice, haven't you gone through puberty, yet? You got no hair, there."

"Would you mind closing the door, Bessie?" I ask, putting conditioner on my hair. Geez, taking a shower with three people watching me is not exactly relaxing.

"Bessie, get with the twenty-first century," Rosalind says. "Everyone waxes or at least shaves down there, these days."

"I'm never shaving or waxing down there again," Olivia says. "I need to block all sperm."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way," Rosalind says.

"You look like an eleven-year-old boy," Bessie insists, staring at my hoo-ha.

"Really? Judge Judy isn't on? The only thing for you towatch is my vagina?" I ask, annoyed while I soap down my body.

"You're as bald as a bowling ball. It looks like your crotch has a slight smile and is trying to say something," she continues.

"It's trying to tell you to close the door, Bessie," I say, pointing a soapy finger at her.

"I can't imagine Cole wants any part of that," she says to Rosalind and Olivia, finally turning her attention away from my nether regions. "Is there something we can do? Like a vagina toupee or something? A wig? Oh, I know! Let's go to the pharmacy and get her some of that Rogaine stuff. I hear that works real well."

I finish rinsing off and turn off the water. "Men like bowling balls these days," Rosalind tells Bessie. "Anyway, Cole's already gotten an eyeful of Beatrice's slight smile."

Bessie shrugs. "Okay. Okay. I mean, you're the expert, but I mean, doesn't this look better?" She pulls her pants down and flashes her naked lower half to all of us.

"Wow, you could block all kinds of sperm," Olivia tells her.

"Right? It's a sensible vagina. Built for all kinds of use. A man needs functionality and fun. If a man got near Beatrice, he would slip right off. Did he slip off you, Beatrice?" Bessie asks me.

I wrap a towel around myself. "How did we get here?" I ask, throwing up my hands. "I mean, what the hell?"

Rosalind claps her hands, like she's a school marm, and we're naughty students. "Ladies! Ladies! We're getting off topic. Bessie, I paid three-hundred-dollars at the best Beverly Hills salon to make Beatrice's vagina into a bowling ball, so we're going to go with it, as is. I mean, it hasn't let us down, yet. Second of all, please for the love of God, pull your pants up. Third, let's work on phase two: hard to get and jealousy. Beatrice has a dinner to get to, and we have to prep her."

"Just trying to help," Bessie says, pulling up her pants, obviously affronted.

I step out of the shower and put my arm around her. "You're helping Bessie. I love your help," I lie because I'm feeling guilty.

"Thank you, sweetie," she says. "I didn't mean to disparage your patooty." And yet she did it so well.

"It's okay. It's a little disconcerting if you're not prepared."

"What a day," she says, blowing out air. "First a baby born during the barrel racing, and then the lawnmower races incident."

"Lawnmower races incident?"

"I was in the ambulance with Holly when it happened, but I heard it was hair-raising," Olivia says, shuddering.

"It was just like the Durango rodeo of '84," Bessie tells me. "Luckily no one died this time."

Operation Billionaire is back on, and it's taken a twisted turn to using Rock as my phony suitor in order to make Cole jealous. I don't know why I'm going along with it. Perhaps the enthusiasm of my fellow conspirators is contagious. Or maybe their optimism is contagious. I don't know what it is, but something is contagious, and I've caught it. Now I'm sharing a little optimistic enthusiasm. After all, if I have a chance with Cole, shouldn't I try for it, even if it entails lying and cheating?

Rock cleans up nice. He's wearing an Armani tuxedo and cowboy boots, and Olivia can't stop touching him. She's been adjusting his tie and gazing into his eyes for fifteen minutes. I feel for her. I know what it's like to have a mad crush on someone and then finally be able to touch them, even if it's just their tie.

Diane is taking care of the kids with Tiffany, who came back to our suite full of stories of miracle pregnancies. "Tell me about it," Olivia commiserated. "I've been pregnant for five years. I'm probably pregnant right now." Then, she bit her lower lip and had to breathe into a paper bag until Rosalind and I could convince her that she wasn't pregnant. But it wasn't until Rock returned in all his finery that she was distracted from thoughts of over-active ovaries.

"I can't compare to Mister Pretty," I tell Rosalind, as she puts the finishing touches on my hair and makeup.

"You talking about Rock or Cole? They're both pretty pretty."

"Cole is more ruggedly handsome than pretty. Rock looks like Robert Redford in The Way We Were," I say.

"You're right," Rosalind says. "Rock looks just like him in that movie. I don't know who Cole looks like."

Like nobody. Cole looks like himself. There's no one who can compare with him.

"But he sure is a hot billionaire," Rosalind says, moving on to my dress, making sure that my boobs are on full display. They are. There's a seventy percent chance that my nipples will make an appearance before the soup course at dinner. "I don't care if a man is good-looking or not," she continues. "But you got lucky with Cole. He looks nothing like Warren Buffett. Oh! I know who he looks like. Superman. Not the Christopher Reeve one. The one new one. Henry Cavill."

"But better looking," I say.

"Well, you've seen him naked so you have more to go on than I do. There you go," she says, stepping back and giving me a head to toe look. "I think we've done all we can do. If he doesn't kill Rock to get closer to you, then he's not human."

I take a look in the mirror. I vaguely resemble myself, except that I'm wearing a drop-dead gorgeous cocktail dress that clings to every inch of me except for my cleavage, which is out for everyone to see.

I clutch Rosalind's shoulders. "I can't go out like this," I tell her, my voice strained with a big dose of panic. "People will laugh at me. This isn't who I am."

"This is who you are," she says.

"This isn't who I am."

"This is who you are."

"No," I insist. "I'm GAP, not Sax Fifth Avenue. I'm Jessica Simpson shoes, not Jimmy Choo shoes."

"Get a grip, woman. You're wearing Louboutin."

"See? I don't know the difference between Jimmy Choo and Louboutin. What will I do if they give me a shrimp fork? I don't know what to do with a shrimp fork. What if I try to eat salad with it? I can't be trusted with lots of forks. It'll be chaos. Mayhem."

"Diane, hand over a Toblerone," Rosalind tells her. "Or do you need booze, Beatrice? No, that won't work. God knows what you'll do with a bunch of forks if you're drunk."

"Should we do the ear bud thing again?" Olivia asks, breaking away from Rock in order to check me out as I have a breakdown.

"Not that, again. I still have ringing in my right ear," I say.

"I think you look wonderful," Rock says. "I can't wait to drive Cole mad. He's going to swallow his tongue."

"Whatever you do, don't let her get naked," Bessie tells Rock. "There's weird stuff happening down there."

Olivia blanches, and Rock winks at her. Maybe the attraction goes both ways, I wonder for a moment. Rock puts my arm on his.

"Ready?" he asks me.

"No."

"All righty, then. Let's hit the road. If we leave now, we'll be fifteen minutes late, and you can make an entrance that'll give Cole a stroke. I'm pretty sure you're the first woman who has ever rejected him, so he'll already be on edge. This will put him over the top."

Bessie pats my ass. "Knock him down and then rein him in, honey," she tells me. "Oops, your nipple just popped out."

Everyone stares at my boob, and I quickly put it back in. This is never going to work. I'm one nipple away from making a total fool out of myself. And what if Cole has a date, too? What if he doesn't give a damn that I'm with Rock? What if he sees through my Louboutins right down to my Jessica Simpsons? What if I fall in love with him just as he gets ready to dump me? What if we never get past seven days? What if we don't make it to day two?

I take a deep breath. Boy, what ifs are exhausting.