Kristen Painter - All Fired Up

“Hi, kitten—”

Delete. Next.

“Baby, it’s me—”

Delete. Next.

“Sweetheart, please—”

Delete. When was Brad going to figure out over meant over? Two more messages.

“Hiya, Cal—”

Delete. Next.

“Hiya, girlfriend—”

Delete. Her ex-best friend, Jeana, didn’t get it either. Too bad you couldn’t un-relate someone or Jeana would lose her cousin status, too. Family wasn’t supposed to screw family over that way, even if they were twice removed. Calleigh sighed. She never should have let Jeana set her up with Brad in the first place.

Brad and Jeana deserved each other. Cheater one and cheater two. They made a great couple. A great couple of cheaters.

Calleigh flipped the ringer switch off. She wanted no disruptions during the hot bath she was about to indulge in. She grabbed a diet Pepsi and headed for the bathroom.

After a long, well-deserved soak, she flipped the lever to drain the tub. The sucking sound of water swirling down the drain reiterated the theme of the day. Make that the week. Maybe even the last few years of her life.

She shook the bad memories away, wrapped up in her robe and went to the kitchen to uncork the chardonnay. She filled a glass with the sunlight-colored liquid and grimaced at the first sip.

“Ick.” White wine didn’t taste so hot after diet Pepsi.

Calleigh turned on the CD player and took another swallow as her favorite song blared from the speakers. She belted the tune out, setting her glass on the coffee table so she could dance around the living room. Brad despised her singing. She despised Brad. Must be karma. She flopped onto the couch, giggling.

Laughter melted into crying. She didn’t really despise Brad. It had only been a week since she’d dumped him, and in her heart of hearts, she loved him, wanted to be with him. She’d imagined their wedding day every day for the last six months since he’d proposed. She’d even named their kids.

He was a great catch. Too bad she’d caught him beneath her best friend.

Beautiful, blonde Jeana had no problem getting men. She had scores of them. So many, she made Sex In The City ’s Samantha look like a nun. Why on earth did she have to have Brad too?

Calleigh punched one of the scatter pillows. To think she’d been about to give herself to that fool instead of waiting for their wedding night. She’d even bought a sexy little slip of black lace and lilac silk.

Hah! The chance of him seeing that nightie now was about as good as finding out what Victoria’s Secret really was.

The answering machine kicked on. Calleigh jumped. She’d forgotten the ringer was off. Her annoyingly happy voice asked callers to leave their info at the beep. The caller obliged.

“Hi kitten, it’s Brad. Are you there?”

She scowled at the phone. “Not for you. And don’t call me kitten. Pet names are for pets.”

“Please pick up. I need to talk to you. This is killing me. I’m a fool and I’m sorry. So sorry. Please talk to me. Please. It’s no excuse, but Jeana’s a hard girl to resist when she comes on strong. It was one time, I swear, and it won’t happen again. Ever. I need you, baby. I love you.”

Calleigh hissed at the phone, and Snickers flattened his ears against his head. She launched off the couch and grabbed the receiver.

“You bet your Gucci loafers it won’t happen again because—“

The dial tone hummed in her ear. She slammed the phone down, then sloshed more wine into her glass. Figures, the first time she got the nerve to tell him off, he wasn’t there.

Enough. She needed to relax, to forget, to unwind. She turned off the CD then lit the vanilla candle on the coffee table. Snickers tucked his tail over his nose and stared at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Just because I haven’t started the fire for you yet doesn’t make me a bad mother.” The rain hadn’t let up. Wind whistled past the windows in a lonely whine.

She turned the fireplace key. With a soft whoosh and the subtle smell of sulfur, flames leapt around the fake logs. She shook her head. Those logs were more real than Brad’s love. Leaning back on her heels, she scratched Snickers. He turned his belly toward the radiating warmth and closed his eyes.

Aside from the occasional mouse, the remodeled brownstone was a phenomenal place to live. Her childhood home was the one constant good thing in her life. She hated that sometimes the utilities only got paid thanks to her inheritance, but things had been tight since she closed the studio. Secretarial work sucked, but she couldn’t teach dance anymore. The downstairs studio held too many memories.

Maybe a roommate was the answer. Four bedrooms was more than enough space for two people.

With an empty wine glass in need of refilling, she floated into the kitchen, a little lighter.

Tomorrow she’d buy a paper and start looking for a new job, maybe see if anyone needed a place to share. Enough thinking about her messy life. Time to focus on destroying the evidence with a good, cleansing trashcan bonfire. She tipped the wine bottle into her glass.

“Here’s to my right to play with matches.” She giggled softly and hoisted her glass a little higher. “Fire, the scorned woman’s best friend.” She drank to her own toast then started for the living room. The soggy box on the countertop caught her eye. Water seeped from one corner, puddling on the granite.

At least she hadn’t spent much on the gift. In fact, no one else had even bid on the thing, probably due to the blurry pictures and lack of description. If Brad didn’t like eagles so much, she wouldn’t have bought it.

Maybe she could find an actual bird of prey to peck his hands off. Or peck off his pecker.

Laughing out loud, she set her glass down and ripped the box open, spilling foam peanuts all over the kitchen floor. Snickers began killing them with frantic enthusiasm.

The object, wrapped in newspaper, broke through the mushy bottom of the box and landed squarely on her big toe.

“Ouch!” Calleigh yelped and hopped around as she rubbed her foot. Snickers scrambled out of her way. “I must be cursed.”

She grabbed the bottle of wine, her glass and the eBay goodie and hobbled back to the couch. After a good toe rub, she pulled off the newspaper. If she squinted, the carving could pass for a pterodactyl maybe. But an eagle? Not hardly.

“Only I could get duped into buying some prehistoric bird figurine instead of our nation’s symbol. Look at this thing, Snickers. Does this look like an eagle to you?” She held the bird out toward the cat before taking a better look herself.

Carved from a rich, dark wood smelling faintly of gingersnaps, the bird had a hooked beak and long, trailing feathers. Probably someone’s failed arts-and-crafts project. Heavy for its size, the figurine felt more like metal than wood, and was warm to the touch.

Sighing, she set it on the coffee table and topped off her glass before checking her watch. Too early for the bonfire. Nosy Mrs. Crouper stayed up much later than an old woman should and rarely minded her own business.

“Go to bed, Mrs. Crouper,” Calleigh whispered toward the wall that adjoined their brownstones. If she didn’t want the entire Brooklyn fire department banging on her front door, she’d have to wait until the old biddy was definitely asleep.

Maybe there was a good chick flick on, something mindless she could lose herself in for a few hours.

She channel surfed, settling on an old Brat Pack movie. The crinkle of Rob Lowe’s eyes reminded her of Brad’s handsome, cheating face. Not good. Her thumb tapped the power button off. Maybe she should just call Brad and have it out.

Sitting up made her head swim. She emptied the wine bottle into her glass. Had she drunk that much already? Empty bottle in hand, she staggered into the kitchen to throw it away. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the phone was the only thing she could focus on.