When Katie Met Cassidy Read online

  In spite of herself, Cassidy felt something—a weakening of her defenses now that Katie’s sadness was so evident.

  “You’re not alone.” She made no effort to remove Katie’s forearms from where they were resting upon her shoulders. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I really like you,” Katie said, and then hiccupped. She brought her face in close to Cassidy’s, and Cassidy knew she couldn’t kiss her. She was disgusted with herself for wanting to, for the momentary deliberation.

  Then Katie’s face changed.

  “You okay?” Cassidy asked.

  Katie bolted for the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time.

  Christ. Cassidy had to look away. What the hell was she doing here?

  She went to the kitchen to get Katie a glass of water and was taken aback all over again by the overturned liquor bottles littering the counter and kitchen table. She would have mistaken it all for a Labor Day party’s aftermath if she didn’t know better.

  Against her better judgment she opened the fridge. It was empty of food, as she expected, but at least it wasn’t stockpiled with booze. Closing the door, she noticed a few faded photos stuck with magnets to its front.

  Cassidy reached for the most adorable of the bunch, a photo of Katie as a little girl perched upon a horse. She looked like a real-life American Girl doll, big blue eyes, shiny blond braid, complete with mini equestrian outfit and tiny riding helmet.

  Beside that was a family photo, the posed kind, where everyone was in color-coordinated outfits. Katie and her mother were in dresses; her father and two brothers were in ties. Katie was the youngest and she couldn’t have been a day over fifteen when this was taken, but without a hint of the pubescent awkwardness that Cassidy had suffered at that age. They were a handsome, wholesome group—the father hulking over the rest of them like a good-natured bear; the mother with a hint of protective concern behind her stiff smile; a wiliness to the brothers, who were close in age and no doubt sportsmen. They were a regular family in the way that triggered Cassidy’s basest resentments. She couldn’t help but be suspicious of any group that fit so seamlessly in this world, at least on the surface.

  It wasn’t cool, and certainly not PC, to admit that the sight of Katie’s brothers sent a chill up Cassidy’s spine. They stirred in her a volatile mixture of fear and aggression, these boys-will-be-boys kind of men. She could almost see the other photos in a family album somewhere, of the two of them bullet-belted, toting rifles, flashing huge grins over some enormous dead animal. They were the kind of guys Cassidy would cross the street to avoid because her intolerance of them was palpable, yes, but also in fear they’d attack her for sport, too, if she came too close.

  Another photo on the fridge was of Katie arm in arm with a group of girls, all wearing college sweatshirts. Some of the sweatshirts were bright orange and read University of Tennessee; others read University of Hard Knox. There were sweatshirts that brandished Greek letters or a red-and-yellow crest. Katie’s was gray with burgundy lettering: Chi Omega, Since 1895. Cassidy stepped back to take in the group as a whole. So much blond hair and fair skin and light eyes. Perfect-looking girls with perfect little lives.

  Farther down the fridge door, Cassidy found a more recent photo of what had to be Katie and her ex-fiancé. They were dressed in formal attire, probably at someone’s wedding. She looked happy, Katie did. He looked like a dipshit, so normal it was nauseating, but Katie seemed to really like him, at least in this picture.

  Cassidy turned away from the photos then, and without thinking she began tidying up. She gathered the empty overturned liquor bottles on the counter into a garbage bag and piled a few sticky mugs into the sink. She checked the coffeemaker, chucked out the old filter, and filled a fresh one with the container of Folgers beside the machine.

  Cassidy didn’t even know this girl. Why did she care if she had coffee in the morning? Why was she drawn to this mess?

  In the cabinet, Cassidy found a clean glass and filled it with water. She walked it to the bedroom, where she found Katie facedown on her mattress.

  “Katie?” she said from the doorway.

  She could at least tell Katie was breathing by the slight rise and fall of her black bra and underwear. As she stepped closer, to set the glass of water onto the nightstand, she could also hear her snoring.

  Cassidy thought to cover her with a blanket but was too afraid to touch her. Instead, she checked to make sure Katie’s alarm clock was set and then quietly made her escape.

  * * *

  Headphones on, music blaring, Cassidy tried to shake off all memories of the previous night. She upped her speed and her treadmill’s incline to physically run them out of her mind. She could not go into work distracted today. She had to be business as usual. Get in, close this deal, and get out. Then Katie Daniels would be a thing of the past. She would likely never see her again.

  Cassidy imagined herself later that night joking about it over drinks with Gina and Becky. Dahlia would reenact how she had to come out from behind the bar to help drag the straight-girl shit-show out to the curb.

  Someone would no doubt ask, Did you hook up with her?

  Yeah, she’d reply sarcastically. Because I’m a date rapist. Of course I didn’t hook up with her!

  But are you going to see her again?

  God no, Cassidy would say. Once was more than enough! She pictured how they’d laugh at this part, how she’d buy everyone a round, and that would be that.

  So why the hell was she running, literally sprinting, at twice the normal speed this morning? Like she wanted her heart to burst from her chest.

  Those photos on Katie’s refrigerator door had gotten to her; they’d stirred a strange and familiar longing.

  Cassidy had woken up thinking of Monica—of the first time they lay together with their hips touching, legs entwined, and how afterward they smoked a cigarette like they’d seen couples do in the movies but pretended nothing unusual had just gone on. It was a well-worn memory that came to Cassidy only in moments of weakness, unfurling against her will to all that followed—how junior year Monica started dating Noah Cooper, and how senior year Cassidy found herself in the sickening position of documenter at pre-prom pictures.

  After all these years and countless women, innumerable humiliations erased and conquered, this one persisted, harbored malevolently in the walls of Cassidy’s mind like a haunting.

  “You’re going to come see us off, aren’t you?” Monica had said. “You have to come! You always take the best pictures of me.”

  It was true that Cassidy had been incapable of taking a bad photo of Monica, because for Cassidy taking a photo of Monica was a flash of perfection. It was Monica’s shape and form suspended in place, where if she came back in an hour to check, this Monica would remain exactly as she was, still smiling back at her as proof of something.

  Monica’s prom dress was rose quartz—Cassidy would never forget it. It was a color she’d had difficulty visualizing when Monica described it. But seeing it on Monica that afternoon, Cassidy understood how it wasn’t simply pink, as she’d suspected; it was in fact the exact hue of a crystallized gemstone transmitting a pale pink light.

  After watching their limo drive away, Cassidy walked home in the opposite direction, hands dug deep into her jeans pockets, head down.

  “Are you sorry now?” her mother had said when she arrived home. “Are you sorry you’re not going? Now that you saw how nice everyone looked and how happy they all were?”

  Cassidy slowed her treadmill’s pace and reduced her incline before she actually did have a heart attack. She wiped the sweat from her face with her towel.

  Shake it off, she told herself. Shake it off. Stay present. Focus on the task at hand.

  But are you going to see her again?

  God no, she would say. Once was more than enough!

  FIVE


  Katie woke up to her head blaring like an ambulance and her mouth as dry as week-old bread. There was a full glass of water on her nightstand and she chugged it down, then got herself into the shower.

  What had she done? And, worse, how was she supposed to face Cassidy now, all day long, with her Falcon cannot agree to that bullshit?

  Katie stepped out of the shower needing coffee so badly she could almost smell it. No, wait, she was definitely smelling it. This was no hallucination, but how was that possible?

  Sure enough, her coffeemaker had prepared her a steaming four-cup pot. So either she had set up the machine and set its timer in a blackout (unlikely) or Cassidy had done it before leaving last night. It was an act of heartfelt thoughtfulness that made having to go head-to-head with her this morning slightly less mortifying. But only slightly.

  Katie drank her first cup of coffee while digging through the hallway closet just outside her bathroom—what she believed was intended to be a linen closet but in an apartment this small was more like a linen closet/medicine cabinet/storage cupboard. It contained every household item that couldn’t fit anywhere else. Bath towels, dish towels, toilet paper, random appliances she’d purchased on a whim and used only once, like a salad spinner. Katie was searching for antacid, but wouldn’t you know it—she found an iron. It would have been awesome if she’d stumbled upon it yesterday, but she was not about to look a gift iron in the mouth.

  Katie kicked a few boxes from the center of the living room floor in order to lay down a towel and iron her black skirt suit. It was a different black skirt suit from yesterday, but only if you looked closely. She’d wear it with a cream-colored blouse today instead of white.

  While ironing her suit to perfection she tried to recall how exactly she had gone from screwing up Cassidy’s Megatouch game last night to ending up with her here at her apartment. And why in the world did she take off her dress?

  She dragged an IKEA chair from the kitchen into her bedroom, then slid her nightstand in front of the mirror to construct a makeshift vanity. It was not quite the handcrafted, beveled-glass makeup nook she’d grown accustomed to in SoHo, but it would do.

  With her face nearly knocking into the mirror, Katie applied a yellow-tinted concealer to the dark circles under her eyes and then lined them with a neutral pencil to counteract their redness. Her face was coming together, but Cassidy Price had still seen her in nothing but her underwear. This fact was undeniable. Katie had never before been met with the predicament of heading into a negotiation where opposing counsel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her belly button was an innie, but she was fairly certain it put her at a disadvantage.

  When she arrived at the Falcon Capital building, she stepped out of her cab and locked eyes with Cassidy, who was—of course—stepping out of the car directly in front of hers.

  Katie forced herself to hold Cassidy’s gaze. She could not succumb to the shame. “Hey,” she said, immediately realizing how flippant it came out sounding. Good, she thought. Go with that. She brought even more levity to her voice. “Did you set my coffeemaker last night?”

  For whatever reason, Katie’s posing this question caused Cassidy to blush. “Yeah,” she said, like it was no big deal.

  “That was very nice of you.” Katie chuckled. “I have to say, no man would have done that.”

  Cassidy laughed uncomfortably and then gestured to the building’s front door. “Shall we?”

  Katie let Cassidy hold the door open for her, and they rode the elevator together in total silence. Katie swore she could smell Wild Turkey emitting from her pores but willed herself to ignore it. She told herself that Cassidy should be just as embarrassed as she was right now because Cassidy was the one spending her nights fucking twenty-two-year-olds in a filthy girl-bar bathroom. What would Falcon think about that? Katie doubted very much Falcon would agree to that.

  The two of them entered the conference room and separated to opposite sides of the table.

  “Let’s get started,” Katie’s boss said. “We have a lot to cover if we want to close today.”

  They proceeded much the same way as the day before. We want this but they want this, you claim this but they think this, yada yada yada.

  Katie and Cassidy were seated across from each other just as they had been yesterday, but today instead of trying to imagine Cassidy’s life, Katie was straining to push it out of her mind. She didn’t want to have a mental picture of Cassidy searching and pecking through a game of erotic photo hunt, or of her ragtag group of friends, or, worst of all, her ranking on the Best Fucks List.

  In fact, Katie had to question Ms. Price’s judgment for allowing her to see all of that. Why would someone who relied so heavily on intimidation in the boardroom, aggressive eye contact, and a $300 haircut give her such an unadulterated view of her underside?

  As they negotiated back and forth, Cassidy’s recurring Falcon cannot agree to that sounded less maddening to Katie’s ears. Not quite so brash or arrogant. And in spite of Katie’s throbbing head and nausea, she was on top of her legal game, so much so that she believed it was clear to everyone at the table that the power balance had shifted in her team’s direction.

  Perhaps having Cassidy see her in her underwear last night had put her at the disadvantage instead of Katie. Even so, when the deal was done—miraculously by around eight p.m. that night—Katie made a quick round of handshakes before dashing to the ladies’ room, where she planned to hide until Cassidy went home.

  That’s where Cassidy found her, leaning against the sink, gazing at her own shamefaced reflection.

  “I thought you might be in here,” Cassidy said.

  Katie pretended like she needed to wash her hands.

  “Good work today,” Cassidy said.

  “Thanks.” Katie used way more soap than necessary and took her sweet time scrubbing each finger individually in hopes that Cassidy would head into a stall, allowing her to make her escape.

  But Cassidy stayed put.

  Katie turned off the faucet and shook out her hands because it was inconceivable that she could continue washing them any longer. Then she pivoted away from Cassidy to reach for one, two, three paper towels.

  While Cassidy watched her thoroughly dry her hands, Katie thought maybe she was just bad at goodbyes. Their deal was done. This would likely be the last time they’d ever see each other. Maybe on account of the craziness of last night Cassidy felt like she owed Katie a friendlier farewell than the abrupt handshake they’d already exchanged. But as far as Katie was concerned, they’d spent more than enough time on this tête-à-tête. It was time to end this.

  Katie picked up her purse and her briefcase from where she’d set them down on the window’s ledge. “Look,” she said. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m not usually such a hot mess. I just got out of a bad breakup, and I was feeling—”

  “It’s cool. You don’t have to apologize.” Cassidy was looking every which way now, every which way except right at Katie. “You were loads of fun last night. You made yourself many fans.”

  Okay then, Katie was about to say when Cassidy shocked her by asking, “Do you want to grab some dinner?”

  “I can’t,” Katie reflexively shot back. “I have plans.” Which was a lie. She was in fact starving and dreading going back to her empty apartment alone.

  “Well, let me give you my number.” Cassidy took out her phone.

  “Oh, no,” Katie said. “I don’t . . . I’m not. I mean, I won’t . . .”

  Cassidy halted, then put her phone back into her suit pocket. She scratched at the back of her neck. “At least take this.” Cassidy pulled out a business card. “My cell’s on there if . . .”

  Katie took the card from Cassidy’s fingers but didn’t give it so much as a glance. She didn’t offer her one of hers.

  Cassidy backed off then, finally, and turned to leave without saying goodbye.


  “Take care,” Katie said as the bathroom door swung soundlessly closed behind her.

  Katie knew she had hurt Cassidy’s feelings, but that was just too frigging bad. Better than giving her the wrong idea. What did she think Katie was? Just because she got a little drunk and made a fool of herself.

  Then the bathroom door swung back open and Cassidy reappeared. “You know, I’m not hitting on you,” she said. “You don’t have to be such a snob. It’s just dinner.”

  Katie was stunned for a second by Cassidy’s forwardness.

  She said, “I’m not a snob. You are.”

  “Very mature.” Cassidy smiled.

  “Fine,” Katie said. “I could use some dinner. Where to?”

  SIX

  The moment their waitress set down a plate of complimentary pâté Cassidy knew she was doomed. She’d accepted that there was a chance Raquel would be in the kitchen tonight, but she’d chanced it because this restaurant was the ideal place to take Katie for dinner. It had just the right atmosphere for them to sit and have a nice meal and partake in meaningful conversation, a perfect balance of edge and intimacy. Some might have called it the ideal date restaurant—unless, like Cassidy, you’d slept with the chef for a few weeks, then promptly stopped answering her texts once she broke up with her girlfriend to be with you.

  “The chef here is a friend,” Cassidy said, in explanation for the free pâté.

  A moment later Raquel appeared wearing checkered chef pants and a black skullcap over her asymmetrical bangs. She set down an artistically arranged beet salad and then gave Katie a pointed once-over.

  Katie returned the favor, observing Raquel’s pierced labret and tattooed forearms.

  “Hi.” Raquel extended her hand to Katie. “I’m Raquel.”

  “Hello,” Katie said. “Nice to meet you.”