Lauren Weisberger - Chasing Harry Winston

The landline jangled again just as she plugged in her hot plate.

Private caller. Hmm.

“Hello?” she said, propping the phone between her ear and shoulder while she wrenched open a can of chicken noodle soup.

“Em? It’s me.”

No matter how many months went by, it felt like Duncan would always say “It’s me,” and Emmy would always know exactly who was speaking. A million thoughts flashed through her mind. He was calling to wish her a happy birthday…which meant he remembered her birthday…which meant he was thinking about her…which possibly meant he wasn’t thinking about the cheerleader…unless, oh god, he was calling to give her news…news that had everything to do with the cheerleader…news that she was not prepared to hear, not tonight, not ever.

Reflexively she almost hung up, but something forced her to keep the phone to her ear. If she didn’t say something soon she was going to ask him straight-out if he was engaged, so as a purely defensive maneuver she said the first thing that came to her mind.

“When did you make your number private?”

He laughed. His amused-but-not-totally-enamored Duncan laugh. “We don’t talk for months on end and that’s all you have to say?”

“Were you hoping for something else?”

“No, I guess not. Listen, I know you just got home and everything, but I was hoping I could come up?”

“Come up? To my apartment? You’re here?”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, been here awhile. At the copy shop across the street, waiting for you to get home. They’re getting a little weirded out by me, I think, so it would be great if I could come in for a minute.”

“So you’ve been just sitting there watching my apartment?” How odd to find something so creepy and so flattering at the same time.

Duncan laughed again. “Yeah, well, I called a few times before, right when you walked in, but you didn’t pick up. I promise I won’t stay long. I just want to talk to you face-to-face.”

So he was engaged. That asshole! Probably thought he was doing something noble by coming all the way over here to tell her in person. And on the day before her birthday, which she was willing to bet any amount he had completely forgotten. He could take his face-to-face talk and shove it, as far as she was concerned, and without a moment’s hesitation, Emmy told him as much.

“Emmy, wait, don’t hang up. It’s not like that. I just-”

“I’m pretty fucking sick of hearing what you want and don’t want, Duncan. In fact, my life has been about a thousand times better without you in it, so why don’t you run home now to your little pom-pom girlfriend and make her miserable. Because I’ll tell you what: I’m not interested.”

She slammed down the phone and felt a wave of tremendous satisfaction, which was instantly followed by a tremendous wave of panic. What had she just done?

Barely sixty seconds passed before she heard a knock at the door.

“Emmy? I obviously know you’re there. Can you please open up? Just for one minute, I promise.”

She knew she should be supremely pissed off that he’d used the key he’d never bothered to return, but part of her was downright curious: What could possibly be so important that Duncan-Mr. Indifference Personified-would resort to full-fledged stalking? She was also partly relieved; the Duncan she knew would never, ever make such an effort simply to announce his own engagement.

Not even bothering to kick off her furry slippers, Emmy opened the door and leaned against it. “What?” she asked without a smile. “What’s so important?”

Winded from the five-flight climb, but significantly less than he used to be-the three or four times in five years he’d bothered to come to her place, that is-he looked pretty damn good, and she suspected the positive changes (thinner face, no deathly pallor, great haircut that hid the small bald spot) were the results of the cheerleader’s hard work, not his own.

“Can I come in?” he asked with one of his specialty smiles, a grin that fell somewhere between flirtatious and bored.

Emmy backed against the door and waved her hand toward the apartment, making sure he saw her own supremely indifferent expression.

It took a couple of seconds to close the door and secure the lock, and when Emmy turned around again to face Duncan, he was staring at her with unabashed appreciation. Bordering on worship, were she to be honest with herself. And for possibly the very first time in Duncan’s presence, she didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious about her appearance.

“Jesus, Em, you look great,” he said with more sincerity than she thought him capable of.

Emmy looked down at her robe, remembered the mini-makeover she’d performed after getting out of the shower, and secretly thanked the universe that he hadn’t seen her a mere thirty minutes earlier.

“Thanks.”

His eyes continued to move up and down her body, lingering appreciatively every few inches. “No, I mean like really, really great. The best you’ve ever looked. Whatever you’re doing, it’s definitely working for you,” he said without a hint of irony.

Oh, you mean screwing my brains out with virtually every attractive stranger I meet? Buying sexy lingerie? Refusing to hate my body just because you did? Yes, shockingly, things are going well.

“Thanks, Duncan” was all she said.

He looked around the apartment. “Where’s Otis?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the empty cage. “Did he finally…”

“Ha! I wish. Although I guess it’s the next best thing.”

Duncan stared at her questioningly.

“Adriana watched him during my last work trip-very grudgingly, I have to say-and she bitched about it for days. Then, out of nowhere, I get home, call her to say I’m on my way to pick him up, thank you so much for watching him, blah, blah, blah-literally, I’ve bought her a bottle of hundred-dollar wine as a thank-you and an apology-and she says he can stay for a while.”

“Stay with her?”

“Yes! Can you imagine? She said they’ve bonded. That I was underappreciating Otis and that she’s given him a new lease on life.”

“To which you replied?”

“Like you even have to ask? I said she’s absolutely right; I have underappreciated him, and it’s true he and I have most definitely never bonded. That if she’d like him to stay for ‘a while,’ I could probably find it in my heart to allow it. That was eight weeks ago. I spoke to her this morning and the two of them were on their way to the ‘birdie spa’-her words, not mine. I’m just holding my breath and praying it’s not all a dream.”

Duncan took off his overcoat and tossed it on a chair. He was still wearing a suit; he had come straight from work. He was carrying a plain brown shopping bag and Emmy couldn’t help but wonder if this was a birthday present for her.

“Here, I got you something,” he said when he saw her looking at it.

“You did?” Her voice sounded more hopeful than she would have liked. The bag was bulky when he handed it to her, heavy, and her first thought was that it must be some sort of photography book. Perhaps one of those photographic guides to great hotels, or a tour of one of the Caribbean islands they used to visit during Duncan’s rare vacations.

Emmy eagerly pulled open the bag and was momentarily shocked to discover nothing more than a single ream of printer paper.

Duncan noticed Emmy’s surprised expression and shrugged. “I sat in that damn shop for over an hour. I had to buy something .”

“Uh-huh.” So he hadn’t remembered her birthday, or picked out his own gift for the very first time. This shouldn’t have been surprising or disappointing, but for some reason, it was both.