One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [57]
Inside the door was a small pink patent-leather overnight case. Lola was in the living room on the couch. She peeked over the back.
“You’re still here,” Philip said. He was surprised but not, he realized, unhappy to see her.
“Something really, really terrible has happened,” she said. “I hope you won’t be angry.”
“What?” he asked in alarm, thinking it must have something to do with his screenplay. Had he gotten another call from the head of the studio?
“There’s no hot water in my building.”
“Oh,” he said. Guessing at the meaning of the overnight case, he said, “Do you need to take a shower here?”
“It’s not just that. Someone told me they’re going to be working on the pipes all night. When I went home, there was all this banging.”
“But surely they’ll stop. After six, I would think.”
She shook her head. “My building isn’t like your building. It’s a rental, so they can do whatever they want. Whenever they want,” she added for emphasis.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. Was she angling to spend the night at his apartment? Which could be a very bad—or a very good—idea.
“I was thinking maybe I could sleep on your couch. It’s only one night. They’ll have to have the pipes fixed by tomorrow.”
He hesitated, wondering if the pipes were an excuse. If so, he’d be a fool to resist. “Sure,” he said.
“Oh, goody,” she exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and grabbing her bag. “You won’t even know I’m here, I promise. I’ll sit on the couch and watch TV. And you can work, if you want to. Or whatever.”
“You don’t have to act like a little orphan girl,” he said. “I’ll take you to dinner.”
While she was in the shower, he went into his office and scrolled through his e-mails. There were several he knew he ought to return, but hearing the shower running and imagining Lola’s naked body, he couldn’t concentrate and tried to read Variety instead. Then she appeared in the doorway, damp but clothed in a short tank-top dress, rubbing her hair in a towel. “Where do you want to go for dinner?” she asked.
He closed his computer. “I thought I’d take you to Knickerbocker. It’s right around the corner, and it’s one of my favorite restaurants. It’s not fancy, but the food’s good.”
A little later, seated in a booth, Lola studied the extensive menu while Philip ordered a bottle of wine. “I always get the oysters and steak,” he said. “Do you like oysters?”
“I love them,” she said, putting down the menu and smiling at him eagerly. “Have you ever had an oyster shot? They take an oyster and put it in a shot glass with vodka and cocktail sauce. We had them all the time when I was in Miami.”
Philip wasn’t sure how to respond, having never had an oyster shot, which sounded disgusting but probably made sense to a twenty-two-year-old. “And then what happened?” he asked. It was a random question, but it prompted a response.
“Well,” she said, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands, “you get really wasted. And one girl—she wasn’t one of my friends, but she was in our posse—got so drunk, she took off her shirt for Girls Gone Wild. And her father saw it. And he flipped out. Isn’t that disgusting, knowing your father watches Girls Gone Wild?”
“Maybe he’d heard she’d done it. And he wanted to know for sure.”
She frowned. “No one tells their father they did Girls Gone Wild. But some girls definitely do it to get guys interested. They think it makes them look hot.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s stupid. Yeah, a guy will sleep with you, but then what?”
Then what, indeed, Philip thought, wondering how many men she’d slept with. “Have you ever done it?” he asked.
“Girls Gone Wild? No way. I would maybe take my clothes off for Playboy. Or Vanity Fair, because those are classy. And you have photo approval.”
Philip took a gulp of wine and smiled. She definitely wanted to sleep with him. Why else would she be talking about sex and taking her clothes off? She was going to drive him insane if she didn’t stop.
A little angel