Nine Women, One Dress by Jane L. Rosen Page B

Haberman!
I need
Hank Haberman!
He’s going to drop me. I’m coming over!”
    “Don’t come over!” I said, dabbing at my face. “You’ll make it worse! We can’t be seen together!” He’d already hung up. Reaching into my pocket for a Xanax to nibble on, I frantically texted him to stay away, but faster than the delivery boy from Havana Shanghai, Jeremy appeared at my door. I braced myself for more hysteria, but he seemed fine.
    “You’ve calmed down,” I said suspiciously.
    “There’s a bunch of press and paparazzi in front of your building.” He shrugged. “I got a chance to explain myself.”
    “Thank god,” I said, feeling suddenly very calm myself. Phew. He had come to his senses, he’d cleared it all up, he’d told the world he wasn’t really gay and he wasn’t really in love with me. I stopped nibbling my Xanax. I sat on the couch and breathed. “What did you say?”
    He was very confident. “I said, ‘Hank Haberman is the best and most supportive agent there is, and clearly my comment was taken out of context.’ ” He beamed at me as though he’d just brokered world peace, when all he’d done was make things right with Hank. I popped the whole Xanax.

CHAPTER 12
A Sunday Kind of Love
    By Arthur Winters, Attorney-at-Law
    I was late to meet Felicia because again I changed five times. I have seen this woman nearly daily for years and I was suddenly unreasonably consumed with worry over my appearance. It made no sense. This wasn’t a date, just a walk over a bridge I had seen countless times. Never before, though, had I crossed it. There was a metaphor if ever I’d heard one.
    Even though it wasn’t a date, I hadn’t told Sherri about it. I’d told her I had a business thing. She was so angry that I hadn’t ended the Four Seasons mix-up before it started, how would she understand me actually planning to spend a Sunday with Felicia, or, as she called her, my washed-out secretary? I was beginning to wonder what I was doing myself. After all, I was lying; it was beginning to feel a bit like an affair, not that I had ever had one. Only I would cheat on a young blonde with my middle-aged assistant. Though affairs with assistants are commonplace. What am I talking about? This is not an affair! I promised myself to talk about business a little bit so that when I saw Sherri later I wouldn’t have to lie. Well, not completely.
    As my cab pulled over at City Hall, I saw Felicia on the sidewalk. She was wearing tennis shoes and capris. She looked…adorable. She approached the cab, and as I stepped out to pay she leaned over to give me a kiss hello. It was meant for my cheek, but I inadvertently turned my head and her lips ended up on mine. It was as if it unlocked something in both of us, and we began to kiss on the sidewalk like two teenagers with nowhere private to go. It seemed endless and was interrupted only by the cabbie shouting at me, “Mister—your change!” I looked Felicia in the eye.
    “Do you really want to walk across the bridge today?”
    She couldn’t even speak; she just shook her head. I turned to the cabbie. “Keep the change. Take us to 57 Sutton Place, please,” I said, pulling her into the cab with me.
    We made out the entire way. I don’t even know how we composed ourselves enough to walk past my doorman. I pointed to the camera in the elevator and we stood in separate corners. When the doors opened it was like a race to my apartment. I fumbled with the keys and she grabbed them and opened the door for us. We barely made it to the bedroom, and by the time I touched her bare skin, she literally shuddered with desire. I had never thought about whether or not I was good in bed until I started dating someone half my age, and then I became suddenly and awkwardly aware. With Felicia it was as if I had magic hands. Every move I made, every touch was electric. And it was catching. It felt so good to make someone feel so good.
    When it was over we lay staring at each