Page 14 of For Your Eyes Only
And Glitter Girl was born.
And the rest is a hypersonic history.
And even though I’m not taking off my clothes, I’m sure the lust-inducing strip-tease I do would never pass Graziella’s smell test. I’m Salome, asking a horned-up King Herod for John the Baptist’s head on a platter.
The thought makes my stomach feel like I’ve been on a fishing boat too long, but before I can get too queasy, my phone vibrates in my hand. Michele’s photo is on the screen, and I smile in spite of myself. If anyone knows how to live brilliantly in spite of being an “abomination” (massive eye roll) it’s my former fiancé.
“Hey, girl, hey.” He’s talking to me on FaceTime, and his square chin bobs as he walks. “Are you up for some brunch with your favorite guy?”
I haven’t talked to Michele since the night I lost my job as a mermaid at Whitecaps. I’m not sure if he even knows what I’m doing now, although he has an uncanny way of knowing everything everywhere all the time.
Wrinkling my nose at Bianca, I point to my phone. She can hear Michele through the line and she shrugs. “Whatever.” She shakes her head. “You can learn another day.”
“I’m just opening my eyes, but I’m down for brunch. Meet you in a few?”
Ten minutes later, we’re walking down Frontage Road, headed to the Blue Pointe, which I've heard has the best seafood on the island. A week ago, I’d never be able to afford it, but Glitter Girl is flush with cash.
“You sure you want to go here?” Michele glances up at the classic white and nautical blue sign.
“I’ve been wanting to go here since the day we arrived in town.” Leaning closer, I show him the wad of cash in my purse. “And I can pay for both of us now.”
Michele’s eyebrows rise. “Glad I dressed for the occasion.”
He is handsome in jeans and a loose, button-up shirt. It’s untucked and unbuttoned to the center of his hairless, muscled chest. I’m in a filmy sundress, and the host doesn’t bat an eye, which is one of the perks of living on the coast. Pretty much all the dress codes are casual.
“Good morning, lover,” I tease as I lift the elegant menu at my seat.
For whatever reason, my newfound, baby-fame has given me a sense of confidence I’ve never had before. The waiter takes our drink orders—coffee for me, and keep it coming, while Michele orders a Bloody Mary.
“I want oysters Rockefeller.”
“Calamari and ceviche.”
The waiter nods, disappearing, and I lift my coffee, taking a lingering sip as the hot liquid warms my insides. A little chill rolls down my spine, and I close my eyes. “Mmm… that’s good.”
Michele chuckles, sipping his tomatoey cocktail. “Only you can make drinking coffee look like a sexual experience.”
My eyes blink open, and my cheeks feel hot. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”
“A beautiful woman having a coffee orgasm?”
Now my face is really red. “I wasn’t doing that!”
“Sweet Gia, you’ve got to stop apologizing for being yourself.”
Frowning, I think about how I’ve been apologizing for everything since I lost my mom and was sent to live with my aunt. I’m ashamed of my hair, my tanned skin, my bare feet, my soft body.
“You’re right.” Jutting my chin, I nod. “I’m going to work on that.”
He laughs. “Good girl. Now, tell me where you got all this money? Did Bianca and Franco convince you to do those nudes, or did you start selling drugs?”
“I’m not selling drugs…”
My voice trails off, and he tilts his dark head to the side. “Are you really stripping?”
“Not technically.”
“What does that mean?”