And then she’d recall the paths those strangely cool lips had traced across her skin as he’d dragged his mouth from her high round breasts, to her rib cage, to the soft curve of her belly; the way his hands had molded and pressed and squeezed her skin, silently demanding things she was more than willing to give because he, in turn, was so giving; the way he’d cradled her against him afterward, as if he’d been afraid she might slip away from him in the night.
How could she think about anything else? Her skin still felt singed in all the places he’d touched it.
She was kidding herself if she thought she was going to get any writing done. She Googled him instead and read about the books he’d written (she’d have ordered the books, but they were all in Romanian). She was still reading about him when she noticed the time, swore, and jumped up, rushing to the bedroom. She had to start getting ready if she was going to look absolutely stunning and still get to the Upper West Side in time to meet him.
She was adding a last layer of lipstick when the door opened and Jon came in with Jack Bauer.
“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked, leaning down to let the dog off his leash.
“My date with Lucien,” she said. “Remember?”
“Oh, right,” he said.
The dog ran up to Meena excitedly, ready to throw himself against her knees. She jumped up onto the couch, not wanting her pantyhose ruined.
“No,” she said, firmly. “Down.”
Jack Bauer looked confused and disappointed.
“Jon, can you feed him or something?” she asked him. “He’s-”
It was right then that the buzzer to the apartment’s intercom sounded, startling Meena half out of her skin. She leapt off the couch and reached for the receiver.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Hey, Miss Harper,” Roger, the day doorman, said. Pradip still hadn’t come on duty. “Delivery for you.”
Meena, bewildered, said, “I didn’t order anything.” She looked at Jon. “Did you order something?”
He shrugged. “Like what? I just got here.”
“We didn’t order anything,” Meena said into the receiver.
“You didn’t?” Roger sounded as bewildered as she did. “It’s a messenger. With a big box from Bergdorf Goodman.”
“Oh,” Meena said. Maybe something Mary Lou had ordered, mistakenly addressed to her apartment instead. “Well, send him up, I guess.”
“Will do, Miss Harper,” Roger said, and hung up.
“What did you order from Bergdorf Goodman?” Jon asked after Meena, too, had hung up. “I thought we were broke.”
“We are,” Meena said, going to her purse for a tip for the delivery guy. “And I didn’t order anything.”
“Then where’d you get that dress?” Jon asked. “I never saw it before.”
“Mary Lou lent it to me,” Meena muttered.
“What was that?”
“Mary Lou loaned it to me,” Meena said more loudly.
Jon hooted. “Wow,” he said. “Aren’t you two chummy? What are you gals going to be doing next? Going for mani-pedis together? Tea at the Plaza?”
“Shut up,” Meena said. “She’s not so bad.”
“Well, this is a change of pace,” Jon said. “Lately you’ve been going out of your way to avoid her. I guess a roll in the sack with a prince gives you a whole different outlook on life, huh? Suddenly your snooty neighbors with the summer castle aren’t so bad after all.”
“Seriously,” Meena said, going to the door to unlock it. “Shut up.”
“How much you think that thing set her back? Three grand?”
“No,” Meena said. “It’s vintage. From the sixties.”
“Well,” Jon said, “it does look good on you. I’m not kidding. Lucien is going to pass out when he sees you. You look like a princess.”
Meena beamed. Her brother rarely paid her compliments on her looks, so this one meant a lot.
Especially since she’d been having such a strange week.
“Aw, Jon,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Thanks so much.” She moved toward him to give him a hug.
“Whoa,” Jon said, hugging her back. “What’s going on? I just said you looked nice, that’s all. What’s with the waterworks?”
Fortunately at that moment there was a knock at the door, and Meena, hastily releasing him and wiping her eyes-worried her mascara was running-went to open it as Jack Bauer barked at her heels, excited that there was a visitor.
A man in a beige windbreaker and a baseball cap, holding a huge black box with a gold ribbon around it, asked, “Meena Harper?”
“That’s me,” she said, and took the box, slipping him the five-dollar bill she was holding.
“Thanks,” he said, and headed back to the elevator.
“Um,” Meena said as he stood there, waiting for the car.
“Yeah?” He looked back at her inquiringly.
“Nothing,” Meena said, and started to close the door. Then she had second thoughts, opened it again, and said, “Just…look out for pepperoni pizza, okay?”
The deliveryman stared at her, uncomprehending. “Okay.”
Meena smiled and closed the door. Then she brought the package inside the apartment, Jack Bauer tripping after her.
“What?” Jon said. “Cholesterol?”
“Choking,” Meena said. She set the box down on the dining room table. “But maybe he won’t now, if he’s careful. Who could this be from?” It definitely had her name on it, not the countess’s.
She untied the gold ribbon and lifted the lid off the box. It was filled with white tissue paper. She parted the folds, then caught her breath…
The leather tote with the jewel-encrusted dragon slinking down the side.
In ruby red.
“It’s the bag,” Meena breathed, holding it in one hand and reaching out to stroke each individual crystal with the other.
“What bag?” Jon asked.
“The bag,” Meena said, feeling as if all the wind had been knocked from her. “The bag I’ve always wanted. In exactly the right color. Shoshona has it in aquamarine. But the aquamarine is ugly. The ruby is perfect. Just perfect. Oh, Jon. It’s so beautiful.”
She wanted to cry all over again. She had never seen anything as gorgeous.
“Well, I didn’t get it for you,” Jon said. He began to paw through the tissue in the box. “Who did? Is there a note or something?”
“He got it for me,” Meena said, not looking away from the bag. “I know he did.”
Only how had he known? She’d never told him. They’d never discussed anything as ridiculous as Meena’s inappropriate lust for a Marc Jacobs bag with a crystal dragon slinking down the front, that she could-by the way-never have afforded.
“Who’s he?” Jon wanted to know, pawing harder. “Lucien? Prince Charming? Is that the cutting edge in morning-after gifts these days? Purses?”
“It’s a tote,” Meena said, opening it to see that the messenger bag strap could be exchanged for an elegant gold chain for evening wear or, alternately, a slim leather strap for more formal business events. “Not a purse.”
“Oh, of course it is,” Jon said, pulling a silver envelope from the depths of the box. “Here’s a note.”
The envelope had the word Meena written across it in elegant, slightly old-fashioned handwriting that she instantly recognized as Lucien’s, although she’d never actually seen his writing.
“What’s Mr. Big Pants got to say for himself?” Jon asked crabbily. Meena supposed he was jealous because he’d never gotten anything as tasteful and elegant for any of his ex-girlfriends. She thought she recalled his having bought one of them a bracelet at Tiffany once, only to have her break up with him when she found out he’d bought the exact same bracelet for their mother for Christmas.
Meena put the bag down and ran a nail beneath the fold of the envelope. She pulled out a piece of ivory stationery.
My darling Meena, he’d written.
She smiled. She’d never been called my darling by anyone before.