Part 1 (2/2)
”The black one?”
”With the rhinestones.”
”So pretty,” Dana cooed.
”And, I designed the perfect shoes to go with them. They just arrived yesterday. Gorgeous.”
Dana let out a girlie ”eek!” and scrunched up her shoulders. ”I can't wait to see them!”
”Okay, enough about me,” I said, the thought of red caret fas.h.i.+on pulling me out of my pity-party for one. ”Tell me about your night out with Ricky.”
Dana rolled her eyes. ”Ugh. Where to even begin?”
”That good, huh?”
”Well, Ricky had this thing to go to on Wils.h.i.+re. Some big shot producer's birthday party. But the paparazzi must have got wind of it somehow, because they chased us all the way from his place in Hollywood to the event. It was like we had our own parade with flash bulbs going off all over the place.”
Dana was dating Ricky Montgomery, the movie star. He'd started his career on the primetime drama Magnolia Lane, playing a gardener so hunky that every desperate housewife on the street l.u.s.ted after him. But three seasons in, his character had been killed in a Homeowner's a.s.sociation riot, and Ricky had moved on to film roles, the latest of which had just launched him from supporting actor to full-fledged leading man status. On the up side, he'd been able to pull some strings and get Dana a part playing opposite him, meaning that my actress slash aerobics instructor best friend had finally been able to drop the slash aerobics instructor part of her job description. On the downside, she'd been featured on TMZ twice already with less-than-flattering photos of her leaving Ricky's place early in the morning, post-party and pre-coffee. Living in the public eye had its price. (Even if that price was in the millions per picture.) ”But was the party good?” I asked, huffing as I lowered my machine down a level.
Dana shrugged. ”I guess. I mean, it was all business, you know? Schmoozing with the right agents, rubbing elbows with the right producers. I never thought partying would be so much work. But at least Ricky made it up to me when we got back to his place.”
She grinned. But then must have seen the look on envy my face, as she quickly said. ”Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Look, I'm sure Ramirez will make it up to you soon, too.”
”That's what he keeps promising,” I agreed, though I had my doubts about his ability to make good on that promise before his captain called him in again.
”Well, what about Valentine's Day?” Dana asked. ”Surely you guys have something special planned?”
I nodded. ”Definitely.”
Not only was this coming Sat.u.r.day our first Valentine's Day together as a married couple, but it was also our first anniversary. Yes, we'd gotten married on the most romantic holiday of all. And I was determined that our first anniversary would top it.
”I rented us a room at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. The honeymoon suite. Complete with champagne, caviar, and a hot tub for two.”
”Ooooo,” Dana said. ”Very romantic.”
”The only problem,” I told her, ”is that I have no idea what to get Ramirez for a Valentine's anniversary gift.”
”Lingerie?” she suggested.
”That's more for me, isn't it?”
”Not if it's the right lingerie,” Dana said waggling her eyebrows up and down.
I grinned. ”Point taken. But I was hoping to come up with something a little more personal.”
”How about a personal love poem?”
I actually snorted at that suggestion. Out loud. (Though, in my defense, I'd been working out for over an hour. I was lucky I could produce breath at all, let alone a snort.) Ramirez was a cop. A tall, broad shouldered cop with a scar over one eyebrow and a tattoo of a panther running down his arm. Tough Guy didn't even begin to describe Ramirez. Not that he didn't have feelings. I'm sure he did. In fact, I knew he did, or I never would have married him. But I was pretty sure he did love poems about the same way I did boxinga with one eye shut and cringing the whole time.
”No. Love poem is out.”
Dana pursed her lips together, thinking. ”Okay, well what about something s.e.xy. Likea handcuffs?”
”He's a cop. He already has handcuffs.”
”Fur lined ones?”
I rolled my eyes. ”Vetoed.”
”Okay, maybe not handcuffs. But I know this place that has all kinds of s.e.xy stuff like that.”
”I don't knowa” I hedged.
”Trust me, it will be fun.”
”What's the place called?”
”Peach's Pleasure Den.”
”It sounds like a s.e.x shop.”
”It's very cla.s.sy.”
”A cla.s.sy s.e.x shop?”
”Come on, Maddie,” Dana said, turning to me and shutting off her machine. ”A couple sensual toys might be just what you need to keep Ramirez sleeping at home more often, you know what I mean?”
Honestly? It had been so long I almost didn't know what she meant.
Which, even though I still had my reservations, prompted me to nod in agreement. ”Okay. Fine. I'll go look.”
Dana grinned. A big, wicked thing that instantly had me second guessing my decision.
”Look!” I emphasized. ”Just look.”
Peach's Pleasure Den was located two blocks south of Laurel Canyon in Studio City, right between a dry cleaner and production company with the NBC logo emblazoned on the side of the building. In the windows of the Pleasure Den were mannequins dressed in bright red lingerie with little pink feathers and hearts placed in strategic places. The sign above the door flashed ”open” in pink neon, and the sign to the right of the window said to ask about their latest latex fetish gear.
I was having serious second (and third, and fourth) thoughts.
”You know, I'm not sure this is really Ramirez's kind of place.”
”Trust me, Maddie,” Dana said, grabbing me by the arm and steering me inside. ”This is every man's kind of place.”
<script>