| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 31 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Tuesday, November 02, 10:11:58am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
“It was a business meeting, nothing more,” Carla repeated, staring at her fingernails.
“Then why do I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me?” insisted Nikita.
“I’ve told you everything! She sat down, told Michael she had some information for him, I didn’t catch what kind—gallery stuff I guess. He paid her, and then he left. He didn’t even stay to eat. That’s all that happened. I swear.”
“Since when does Michael pay people for information,” mused Nikita.
“Maybe she was a detective,” said Carla, inspired, “like that Marco guy with the great smile and cute butt.”
“That’s possible,” Nikita agreed reluctantly. “But why wouldn’t he have told me? He said her file was at the hotel, like she was client or something.”
Carla threw her hands up in the air. “I give up. At least you know it wasn’t some romantic tryst.” She stood to leave. Just then, Michael let himself in with his new key. “Must be nice having a live-in chef!”
Nikita ducked her head and smiled. Naturally, Carla assumed that she and Michael were really “living together,” not just sharing a house.
“Will you join us for dinner, Carla?” he said, placing a bag of groceries on the kitchen table and shrugging out of his jacket.
“Nah. I get offers like that from handsome guys all the time,” she joked, winking at Michael. “I prefer my own cooking, actually. Nobody else makes churritos just the way I like them.”
She and Nikita hugged goodbye, and Nikita locked the door behind her.
“Would you mind making a salad while I change clothes, or am I totally on my own tonight?” Michael asked Nikita.
“I think I can handle a salad,” she smiled, and padded barefoot into the kitchen to start washing vegetables.
* * *
Elena was hung-over again, and in a foul mood. She had broken up with yet another boyfriend. Men. They were so undependable. Look at Michael. They had the perfect marriage until she made one teensy mistake—then he suddenly turned into Mister Self-Righteous and dropped her like a hot rock. At least she could keep Adam from him. That made her smile. Then she frowned again. Jurgen, who ruined her entire life, had been seeing two other women at the time he was seeing Elena, and she would never forgive him. Who else did she hate? She sighed, there were too many to remember.
The only person she could really count on was her best friend, Karyn. They had met a couple of months ago, and bonded immediately. Elena knew that Karyn was gay, but that didn’t bother her. The fact the Karyn popped uppers and was constantly wired bothered her a little, but it also made her a lot of fun, too. Elena could always turn to Karyn when she had man problems. She would call her today. What time was it? Only three in the morning. Oh, hell. She’d only been asleep for an hour. She should never have taken that pill Karyn gave her. She would never get any sleep.
* * *
Michael had baked the fish and served it with a thick cream sauce. Nikita had to admit it was delicious, as were the snow peas and tomato pudding. She also managed to snarf down some of the magnificent chocolate soufflé. She felt as though she waddled as she made her way to the couch when Michael waved her out of the kitchen. He cooked it, he would clean it. She watched him as he washed the dishes—he was wearing a pair of tight-fitting faded blue jeans and a navy polo shirt, and from her angle, the view was magnificent. Of course, he chose that moment to turn around and smile. She waved weakly and turned back around on the couch.
She picked up the TV remote and started flipping through channels. There was never anything good to watch on Sunday nights. She paused the remote on “La Femme Nikita.” She chuckled silently. Carla had tried to get her to watch this show, since she and the lead character shared the same name. A homeless girl is taken off the streets and trained to be a covert anti-terrorist operative. Puh-leeze. Who writes this stuff? Even though the male lead’s name was Michael, she just couldn’t get into it. The whole “counter-terrorism spy” thing just seemed ridiculous to Nikita.
She turned off the TV and picked up a magazine. The higher-ups at l'Éclat had agreed that Nikita was not the best model for “Mocha Fantasy,” and had chosen Suzanne Sherman instead. Nikita supposed it would be Suzanne’s face, not hers, that she saw staring back at her from next month’s issue. She flipped through a few more pages. Fortunately for Carla, her coloring was perfect for “Mocha,” and she would be working a lot this fall. Nikita would be doing hair care products, and had been ordered to stay out of the sun or to wear a hat so as not to change her natural hair color. Nikita loved the sun, but she tended to freckle, and had learned to stay out of it anyway so this was not really a problem for her.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Michael’s butt suddenly plopped down on the couch next to hers. She started to laugh, then saw that his face was totally serious. “What is it, Michael?” she asked, concerned.
He took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “We need to talk.”
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