FIC: "MODE: Final Issue!" (Ugly Betty, B/D and lots more pairings besides, PG13), part 2 of 4
6. Early June 2010
Alexis dislikes London, because they know her here.
It’s not that the French don’t have tabloids, but their privacy laws are stricter - enough to shelter her, at least. But in the U.K., she can still attract paparazzi, and stories in the Sun with headlines that include slurs like “she-male.” Her appetite for media attention was satiated a long time ago, but the tabloids’ hunger never wanes. So she wears her sunglasses, tells Daniel to arrange a lunch reservation someplace quiet and hopes to lay low for one weekend. She tries not to have any expectations for her trip beyond that.
What she doesn’t expect is to arrive at the address Daniel gave her and find him in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, standing in front of some hole-in-the-wall Indian place that has linoleum flooring and colored-foil lanterns dangling from the ceiling.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Daniel says, “but wait ‘til you taste the shrimp biryani.”
Alexis is wearing Oscar de la Renta. “I said quiet, Daniel. Not condemned for health code violations.”
These are the first words they’ve spoken face to face since she left the country years ago, days after she claimed the son he’d thought was his. While she didn’t expect him to be thrilled to see her again, Alexis had thought Daniel would at least treat it as an event - good or bad.
A furrow of irritation appears between Daniel’s brows, but he erases it in an instant, obviously determined to make the best of this. “C’mon, Alexis. Give it a shot. You’ll like it.”
She wants to taunt him for his lack of sophistication. To ask him if he thinks seeing his only sister after two years isn’t a special enough occasion to put on a damned pair of slacks. She wants to simply walk away.
But Alexis is also aware that the main reason she’s always so angry with Daniel is just because he had the dumb luck to be born in his own skin, while she had to shape hers for herself.
Which is really a pretty stupid reason. And yet it’s the one that never fades.
“Okay,” she says. “Giving it a shot.”
Of course, Alexis has other, much more valid reasons for being annoyed with Daniel, and she doesn’t wait long after being seated at a tin-topped table that wobbles before coming out with it. “You don’t even call me before you turn daily operations of the company over to Wilhelmina?”
“You gave up all control of Meade before you left. Remember? Can we just eat some naan for a couple seconds and catch up?”
“This is catching up. Seriously, Daniel, you threw our company out the window because you decided you wanted to party in London for a change?”
Daniel takes a deep breath. Then he takes another. Once it was gratifying to watch him struggle to stay calm, but he’s gotten too good at it. “Okay, Alexis. Tell me now. Are you interested in having a real conversation about this? Because we can do that. What we’re not going to do is our usual - whatever the hell it is.”
Alexis doesn’t say yes or no, but she changes tack. “I bet you didn’t talk about it with Tyler, either.”
“Tyler has his own reasons for distrusting Wilhelmina, but he doesn’t want to get involved with the business.” Already Daniel is dropping his guard; he wouldn’t be such an inviting target if he didn’t make it so damned easy. “I still can’t believe we have another brother.”
“He seems - nice. Sort of earthy and sensible, which is weird, given that he’s Mom’s.”
“Yeah. Tyler said you guys hit it off.” Daniel’s expression is hard to read - is it amused or resentful? Somewhere in between, probably.
“We did.” Tyler is not Bradford Meade’s son. Alexis finds it easier to love him. “Our family reunions get weirder all the time. I guess London counts as ‘the middle,’ now, so maybe we’ll have our next one here. Why did you move to London, anyway?”
“Betty’s here.”
That doesn’t originally compute. “You brought her over to work for you? I thought Mom said you were taking some time off.”
“No, Betty’s editing her own magazine.”
Daniel doesn’t say the rest, but it hits Alexis, the punchline to the funniest joke she’s ever heard. “You are not screwing Betty Suarez. You ARE. Jesus Christ.”
“I’m not sleeping with her,” Daniel says, but in a tone of voice that adds the unspoken yet.
“Well, everybody said Dad hired her because she was the only woman on earth you wouldn’t fuck. Good for you for proving him wrong.”
He takes a 10-pound note out of his wallet and drops it on the table. “Go to hell, Alexis.” Then Daniel walks out the door.
Alexis doesn’t know how she feels about what just happened, but she doesn’t feel like following him. If she did that, he would see that she’s even more upset than he is, and she never, ever shows Daniel the chinks in her armor. So she stays for lunch. The shrimp biryani turns out to be terrific.
**
Calling ahead will only result in his hanging up, so Alexis goes straight to Daniel’s apartment that night. Somebody’s coming out as she’s coming in, so she doesn’t have to ring the intercom and face being turned away. Although Daniel has clearly grown a pair since the last time they met, Alexis is betting that he can’t bring himself to shut her down cold twice in one day.
She knocks on the door, and Betty answers.
“Oh! Alexis!” Betty clearly has some idea of what’s been going down. “Sorry. I thought you were the guy with the Thai food.”
“No Thai food. And no guy.” In the background, Alexis sees Daniel, who looks horrified - not to see her, Alexis realizes, but in fear that she’s going to say something cruel to Betty. But she came here planning to be good, and besides, seeing Betty Suarez for the first time in a couple years makes the differences clear. Above all else, Alexis respects transformation. “You look terrific.”
“Thanks.” Betty flushes with pleasure, and across the room, Daniel’s shoulders relax. He doesn’t exactly smile, but Alexis knows she’s welcome to come in.
The delivery guy isn’t four minutes behind her, and Betty insists they ordered enough for three, so Alexis stays to dinner. Inexplicably, Daniel has rented a dinky apartment - one bedroom and an office, with the only dining area a small table against one wall. Just two chairs, so Daniel sits cross-legged on an ottoman and balances his plate on his knee. Mostly the conversation is between Betty and Alexis - Alexis asking about the new magazine, and Betty burbling on happily. The tension between Daniel and Alexis remains a presence in the room, but a muted one.
Betty excuses herself early with vague excuses that all boil down to You Two Need To Talk. Alexis pretends not to watch them hug goodbye - affectionate, but no kiss. Daniel seems to have forgotten how to seal the deal.
As soon as she’s gone, Daniel says, “Thanks.”
“For not being an asshole?”
“Basically.”
“Sorry to screw up your date.”
“It wasn’t a date, exactly.” Daniel looks so downcast that Alexis wants to laugh, but she keeps it to herself. She thinks, Well played, Betty. You’ve practically got him on a leash. “Okay, you want to talk about Wilhelmina.”
“Forget Wilhelmina,” Alexis says. “I don’t care about Meade Publications anymore. I never did.”
“You acted like you cared during paintball.” She glances up to see that he’s smiling, which is encouraging. “If you’re not here about the business, why are you here?”
“It’s DJ.”
Daniel sits down heavily. “Oh, my God. Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Got great grades in school this year. As far as I can tell, he mostly thinks about skateboarding, although he also has a poster of Kristen Stewart on his wall. So either he’s into vampires or he’s straight. One or the other. I’m not sure both things can be true.”
“Sounds like he’s doing well. That’s - really good to know.” It’s hard to see how much Daniel still loves DJ; Alexis feels as though she truly stole something from him. “So what’s up?”
“I’m spending the summer at the house in Provence, and I want you to visit. If you come, then DJ will too.”
Her son still thinks of Daniel as his father. DJ wants to love Alexis, and sometimes she knows that he does, but he wants a dad. That’s something she can’t be, something she never wanted to be to anyone. The idea of being a mother is unexpectedly inviting, but DJ had a mom he loved dearly. They’re still figuring out how Alexis fits in his life. With Daniel to bait the hook this summer, she can arrange for DJ to spend more time with her, because he’ll expect to have more fun. Then he’ll have fun with her, too, and - maybe it will help.
Daniel studies her face. He seems more than two years older. Perhaps losing his wife did it to him, or ditching Meade Publications, or whatever is going on with Betty Suarez. Alexis wonders what he sees when he looks back at her.
Finally he says, “You’re really trying hard with DJ.”
“Are you going to come?”
“Yeah, sure. I can clear a couple of weeks.”
Alexis wants to say thank you, but the words won’t come out. She does the best she can: “I knew you’d come through. For DJ.”
Daniel’s shoulders sag, the slightest hint of disappointment. “I wish you’d understand -“
“What?”
“Alexis, I’d come just for you.”
She nods, and neither of them can quite meet the other’s eyes. But she leans against his shoulder for a moment and allows herself to remember that she loves her little brother.
7. Late June 2009
“Hey, I hear the Picasso exhibition at the Tate is excellent,” Christina says as she squirts more vinegar onto her chips. “I always get a creative charge out of his seeing his colors, you know? Maybe I’m going through my own blue period. Or maybe I’m going to design a bunch of dresses with pictures of people who have penises on their faces. Could go either way. I want to catch it this weekend while Stuart’s taken William to visit his mum in Edinburgh.”
The crowd in the pub cheers - Man U has scored a goal. To her father’s despair, Betty has never cared about soccer, but it’s worth braving game night for fish and chips this good. “You don’t get along with Stuart’s mother?”
“She fondly refers to me as the ‘whore of Babylon,’ so you could say there’s some room for improvement in our relationship. And our move to London hasn’t exactly made her year. But to hell with her! Business is booming, and you can only go so far in fashion in Scotland, unless you’re willing to heavily commit to tweeds. What do you think about the show?”
“Actually, I went last weekend.” Betty takes a sip of her beer before adding, as if it’s an afterthought, “With Daniel. Really, it’s amazing. I’d go again, if you want.”
Like she could ever slip that past Christina. “Daniel again, eh? Been a bit of a change there, sounds like.”
“He’s a good friend. We have a good time together.” Which isn’t the whole truth. Not even close. But Betty isn’t ready to discuss this with Christina; she hardly knows what to think of it herself.
Christina mops a couple of the soggier chips in the vinegar, soaking them further. “Betty - you know I’m only asking because I love you--”
Betty braces herself.
“-you haven’t fallen into a wee bit of a crush, have you?”
“That’s not what’s going on,” Betty says.
“Not that Daniel doesn’t have his charms. Handsome fella. A millionaire, and while money’s not everything, it doesn’t exactly take the bloom off the rose, does it? And more besides.” When Betty stares at her, Christina leans across the table conspiratorially. “Remember, I used to be his tailor. A man has no secrets from she who measures his inseam.”
“Christina!”
Christina holds up her hands in surrender. “If you say it’s just friendship, I believe you. You know your own heart, Betty. Besides, you’ve got more sense than that anyway, haven’t you?”
Betty wants to defend Daniel, but that would reveal too much that she’s not ready to show to anyone yet. Instead she says, “Seriously, I’d go to the Picasso show again. What about Sunday afternoon?”
“You wouldn’t rather go Saturday?” Christina’s attention is half on the game.
“Saturday night is the first FM talk, remember? You promised. You know I need you there.”
“Yes, of course! Can’t miss it!” Christina grins. “So, this Saturday night, we go to the very illustrious talk with the very illustrious author for the very illustrious new magazine FM--”
Betty takes a mock bow over the table.
“-and Sunday we go see pictures of people with penises on their faces.”
“Ahh, high culture.”
**
“Mr. Peck, it’s such an honor that you’re here,” Betty says as she ushers in the guest for the very first FM talk - Alistair Peck, THE Alistair Peck, the most brilliant and reclusive novelist in Britain in the past half-century. He’s very old, very tiny and extremely nervous; the legends about his stage fright appear to be true. “It was good of you to come so early.”
“To make sure I wasn’t a no-show again, hmm?” His eyes are kindly beneath his spectacles. “I’ve bolted many a time, dear. But I’d never do that to you. You’ve a sweetness to you so few people have. Not a false bone in your body. With you, I hope I’ll finally be able to speak my mind - and I’ve waited a long time for that. But please tell me you’ve brought a little liquid courage to help me along.”
Betty, glowing from the praise and the sheer relief that he’s shown up, leads him into the auditorium’s green room. “Absolutely. But you won’t have too much, will you?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He cackles. “At my age, a vow I do not take lightly.”
“The most important thing is that London hears what you have to say, at last.” She pours him a glass of the wine she brought - the only request he made - and makes sure he’s comfortable. Getting him here was the hard part. At this point, Betty’s main concern is drawing him out enough during the interview, but she’s prepped for two solid weeks. “Do you want me to stay back here with you until curtain time?”
Peck pets her arm. “No need, dear. A few moments to collect my thoughts would do me good.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Betty hurries out into the auditorium itself to see if people are coming - and they are. Already there’s a crowd, and she can’t resist a smile. FM launches next month, and this is just the kind of event to help put them on the map. Because of Peck’s notorious habit of announcing public engagements and then failing to show, Betty made the invitations cryptic - nobody knows who the guest for the talk will be. Most of them are probably there for the free cocktails. But when they leave talking about Alastair Peck, FM will be the toast of London. She starts working the crowd, trying to know and be known by everyone.
Not long before the talk is due to start, she glances across the room at the moment Daniel walks in. After years of looking at him without a second thought for hours a day, almost every day, a mere glimpse of him now makes her, well, melty. Like the warm fudge center of Death by Chocolate. Betty knows she’s falling for him, on the verge of falling hard. What she doesn’t know is whether or not that’s a good thing - whether or not she’s going to let it keep happening.
Can she recreate herself as someone new when Daniel’s always reminding her of what used to be?
Then he glimpses her and smiles. Almost despite herself, she waves him closer.
They embrace hello - great, now she’s even noticing how good he smells - and Daniel whispers into her ear, “Did Peck show?”
“Come help me show him out to the stage.” The crowd is murmuring loudly now; it’s almost time to roll.
“You realize Peck is the most amazing get ever, don’t you?” Daniel says as they head behind the scenes. “This will make headlines in New York, too.”
“I admit, I may be feeling fairly awesome right around now.” They go back into the green room to see Peck sitting in the same rolling chair where she left him. “Hello there!” Betty waves. “Are you about ready?”
“Ready? I’m more than ready.” It comes out as a snarl. Peck leans over his empty wineglass like he thinks someone might try to take it from him.
Daniel and Betty share a look. Betty says, “… you’re, um, okay?”
“I’m ready to tell those bastards what I think of them,” Peck says. “Pathetic, bourgeois thugs, the lot.”
Betty looks at the bottle on the table; he’s had more than one glass. In fact, he’s drunk about half the bottle. “Mr. Peck, you promised not to have too much!”
“I had just enough. Just enough to finally get up and speak the truth for once in my life. All these years of cowering behind stage fright - they’re over! Believe me, tonight’s a night your guests will never forget.”
Daniel’s eyes go wide as he picks up the bottle. “Betty, where did you get this?”
“I saw it in the store - all the old novels I used to read talked about port wine, so I thought it would be nice to get - you know, kind of English -“
“Port wine is stronger than regular wine, Betty! It’s been fortified with brandy.”
“What?” They never said that in the old novels. “Why would anybody make alcohol - more alcoholic?”
“… no idea. But it doesn’t matter. Your author’s toasted.”
Betty mentally calculates the effect of that much brandy, versus the similar amount of wine, and her heart sinks. “This is bad. This is seriously bad.”
How could she screw this up? She’d started to believe anything like - like this - was far behind her. Like every awkward moment she could ever have had been left on the other side of the Atlantic. But it’s caught up with her all the same.
Just when she thinks she can’t feel any worse, Peck lifts his head, smiles evilly and says, “You know what? I’m going to tell them about the time I fucked Maggie Thatcher.”
“Oh, please no,” Betty breathes. Daniel’s jaw hangs slightly open.
“She can’t sic her bomb squads on me now!” Peck bellows, waving his fist in the air. “Can you, Maggie? Toothless old cow!”
Betty’s cell rings, and she grabs it, as though hoping help will miraculously be on the other line. Instead, it’s Lindsey Dunne. “Betty, just to let you know we’re headed backstage,” he says cheerily. “Can’t wait to meet Peck!”
He hangs up, and she stares at the phone in horror. “My publisher will be here any second,” Betty says. “And he’s going to see that I got the author drunk and wrecked the event. Oh, my God.”
“Tell him Peck didn’t show,” Daniel says. “Go with your Plan B.”
“But Peck’s here and Dunne is -“
Betty’s voice trails off as Daniel charges at Peck’s rolling chair and pushes it at high speed, Peck along for the ride. “Aaaaaaaaagh!” Peck screams, clinging onto the arms of the chair for dear life as he and Daniel hit the swinging door and keep on going. All the way down the long hallway to the back, Betty can hear “aaaaaaaaaa” - until another door thuds shut and there is silence.
Quickly she grabs the wineglass and bottle and throws them both into the trash, a split second before Lindsey Dunne and his friends come through the door. As Dunne’s face falls, Betty gives him her best sad-but-in-control expression. “It looks like Peck’s a no-show again,” she says firmly, “but we’ve got a great Plan B.”
Plan B, who is named Christina, is swiftly fetched from her place near the free cocktails. She is far, far better at holding her liquor than Alistair Peck. The first FM talk is about the cutting edge of London fashion, and given the expertise of both guest and moderator, and their natural warmth with each other, the crowd laughs and asks questions and has a terrific time. No, it’s not the groundbreaking event Betty had hoped for - but it’s a solid beginning, and Christina’s quotable enough to ensure them quality media attention tomorrow. Dunne congratulates her effusively before he leaves midway through the after-party.
As soon as he’s gone, Betty hurries backstage. She finds them in a small room at the very rear of the building, some sort of janitor’s office: Peck is passed out on a filthy old sofa, and Daniel looks like he’s been in a hurricane.
When Betty stares at him, Daniel says, “Peck really, really wanted to get out there and talk. At length. He wanted to share his thoughts on Thatcher, and bourgeois pigs, and also Doctor Who. He is not happy about where that show is going.”
“Did you have to wrestle him?” Betty covers her mouth with her hand.
Straightening his tie, Daniel pulls himself up to look as dignified as possible. “He’s spry, okay?”
Betty tries hard not to laugh at him, but she can’t help it - and neither can he.
They pour Peck into a cab and walk to her apartment. It’s not especially close, maybe half an hour, but it’s a pleasant night and Betty feels like she could use some air after that. Daniel offers her his hand to help her over a large puddle; once she’s past it, neither of them lets go.
“I know this is strange,” she says, “but I almost feel … relieved.”
“About tonight? This I’ve got to hear.”
“Everything here has been so ... perfect. Except my apartment being the size of a postage stamp, but that hardly counts.” Betty leans her head against Daniel’s shoulder. “I felt like I was turning into some completely different person that nothing bad ever happened to. Which - I mean, I like feeling free to change, but I liked who I was to start with, you know? I don’t want to lose myself.”
“And an author getting drunk on port means you’re not losing yourself?”
Betty considers that. “Weirdly, yes.” It means things are going to stay interesting.
“You’ve always been the most centered person I’ve ever known, Betty.” Daniel’s voice can sound deliciously soft, when he chooses. The words seem to flow over her. “You could never lose who you are.”
She smiles, feeling the smooth fabric of his jacket against her cheek. “You completely saved the day.”
“I just shoved him in the back,” Daniel corrects her. “You saved the day by having a Plan B.”
“Still, that was kind of amazing.”
“As many times as you saved my bacon, I owed you.” Daniel’s hand tightens around hers. “That’s how I got in the business program, you know. I told them I was a graduate of Harvard University and the Betty Suarez School of Crisis Management. They were much more impressed by the second one.”
As Betty laughs, she sees they’ve reached her building, and she feels a quiver of disappointment. Even though her feet are aching, she could walk another mile with Daniel tonight.
And just like that, she knows herself.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” Daniel asks. He always sounds a little unsure, like each time might be the time she says no.
“Tomorrow I’m hanging out with Christina. But what about Monday night? We can go to that awesome Indian place near your apartment, the one with the little foil lanterns.”
“Sounds good.”
He relinquishes her hand. Betty takes the first step up, then stops. They’re face to face now. As their eyes meet, she presses her hands against his chest, then circles him in her arms. Daniel returns the embrace, one of his hands nestling in her hair. Betty feels warmth sweeping through her and closes her eyes. She breathes him in.
Daniel’s lips brush against her cheek, then her jawline, then - slowly, after a long breath -- the very corner of her mouth. He is whisper-gentle. Still giving her an out.
Betty takes his face in her hands and kisses him deeply. It takes a very long while, and nobody’s leading anymore, nobody’s following, because they’re tangled up in each other.
When their lips part, Daniel has the most amazed smile, and she knows she must too. “So,” he says. To her satisfaction, his voice is slightly shaky. “Maybe is becoming a yes?”
“Yes,” she repeats, and they kiss again, a shorter, harder kiss, sharpened by desire.
For a moment she thinks he’ll ask to come up, and she thinks she’ll let him. But he steps back, giving them time. It’s the right decision, she knows - this is too important to rush -- and yet she also knows she won’t be able to sleep for hours.
Daniel says only, “Monday?”
“Monday.”
He squeezes her hands, then lifts one palm to his lips and kisses it. “Good night, Betty.”
“Good night.” She goes inside to daydream and rest her feet and figure out whether to write a note to Alistair Peck and whether to tell Hilda what’s happening and to wonder what it will be like to kiss Daniel on Monday, and for once all the different people she could be truly feel like just one person.
8. Early July 2010
It ought to be a pleasant afternoon. Claire lounges poolside in the New Mexico sun, swaddled in the spa’s luxury robe. Daniel has informed her that he and Betty are becoming an item, which is all the more satisfying for her having predicted it. And yet she’s unsettled.
Tyler’s birth certificate - something’s just not right -
Claire’s phone begins playing “The Bitch is Back.” Without removing the cucumber slices over her eyes, she answers. “What is it, Wilhelmina?”
“And good afternoon to you too. How’s the post-surgical recovery going?”
“For the last time, I haven’t had surgery. I’m merely relaxing.”
“Please, Claire. If you have another facelift, you’ll be wearing a goatee.”
“I take it you haven’t called only in an attempt to pierce my eardrums with your screeching, so, out with it.”
“We have the second quarter numbers in, and they’re drooping lower than your upper arms.”
Claire peels off the cucumber slices and leans her head forward into her hand. As much as she’d like to pin this on Wilhelmina’s management, she knows it’s not her fault. Magazine ad revenue is down. Sales are down. Subscriptions are down - across the entire industry. The trend is more than the recession; it’s the future, looming larger on the horizon all the time.
Owning a chunk of Meade Publications used to be like owning a chunk of General Motors. Unfortunately, it still is.
“Fill me in on the details,” Claire says.
“Don’t you already know? Behind on your own business, Claire. Tsk, tsk.”
“We don’t all have crystal balls and winged monkeys to bring us the news, Wilhelmina. Spit it out. Which magazines are still strong for us?”
“MODE, naturally. PSYCHOLOGY NOW. Most of the regionals. NYW, despite the odds. And HOT FLASH, though I suppose you realized that, unless Alzheimer’s has already set in.”
“What’s sinking?”
“PLAYER is played out. HUDSON’s never been the same since Alexis left. THE CUP had a few good months, but they’re fading as fast as the Tiger Woods scandal. Everything else falls in the middle. The next year or so - it’s sink or swim, for them.”
“We’ll have to trim the fat,” Claire says. “You should handle it, Wilhelmina. Anybody who’s had as much liposuction as you have ought to be good at it.”
“Leaving me with all your dirty work? How typical.”
Claire thinks of the empty floors that will result on the Meade building, and how hard it will be to fill them with new tenants. She can’t let herself think about the people who are going to be out of work. But they’ve held on longer than decency would demand. If the stronger magazines are going to survive, their meager profits have to go towards something besides propping the weaker magazines up. “Please. You love firing people.”
“True. But we all have our little hobbies.”
“Run a list by me, Daniel and Alexis at the end of the next quarter. Unless something dramatic changes, I can’t see us taking action before the end of this year.” 2010 will be a watershed for this business. Afterwards, Meade will be half of what it was when Bradford died. Claire’s grateful he never had to see this. It’s not easy for her to see this happen; it won’t be easy for Daniel and Alexis, either. But as much as they care about this business, it was always fundamentally a business for them. To Bradford, it had been more.
“Will do. Ta, Claire. I hope the stitches don’t show.”
“Take care, Wilhelmina. Sleep well in your vat of formaldehyde.” Claire hangs up and thinks, That went well.
9. Late July 2010
Sunday night. They’re lying on Daniel’s couch, one of her jean-clad legs between his. They’ve been making out so long Betty’s lips are swollen and tender, but she can’t bring herself to stop.
What she doesn’t understand is why she can’t bring herself to move forward, either.
“This must be driving you crazy,” Betty whispers into his ear.
“You are definitely driving me crazy.” His lips press against the side of her throat.
“That’s not what I meant. You aren’t, you know … frustrated?”
“Nope.” When she gives him a skeptical look, he sighs and leans back just far enough to flop onto the cushions. “Maybe a little sexually frustrated. But not emotionally. Betty, honestly, this is fun. You know? Necking like teenagers in the front seat of the car.”
“That wasn’t exactly my teenage experience,” Betty says. “High school involved less kissing cute boys, more afternoons after school participating in the Model U.N.”
“Because boys are stupid.” Daniel’s fingertips brush along the curves of her cheeks, framing her face. “You need to make up for lost time.”
“Definitely,” she murmurs before his mouth covers hers again. The moment is so right to take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom, and yet she doesn’t.
It’s not that she questions whether or not she’s falling in love with Daniel; she finally figured that out. Betty told him so one night as they were sipping cocktails on the South Bank. The way he kissed her then - if she hadn’t chosen to tell him in public, she’s pretty sure that would’ve been their first night together.
How she wishes she hadn’t told him in public.
Because something is holding her back. It’s hard to know what, because the closer they get, the more she wants him. Betty likes the way he smells. Likes the way he feels in her arms. She’s learned the muscles and planes of his body through T-shirts, dress shirts, slacks, jeans, the grubby sweaty stuff he wears to crew in. Betty’s always believed there are no such people as “good kissers,” just couples whose kissing fits together well, but wow, are they apparently in that category. And he pays attention.
For instance, even now, as she shifts herself closer to him, his lips capture her earlobe for just a moment, and how did she never know how sexy that could feel?
When Betty shivers, Daniel says, his voice low, “You like that.”
“I’m sensitive there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Betty kisses him, wild with impatience - with him, with herself, with whatever it is that won’t let her go to bed with him. She’s made herself ready; there’s a box of condoms in her purse. It’s been there for a couple of weeks. One day she even browsed around Victoria’s Secret for something besides her usual colorful cotton underwear. The racy stuff all seemed like it was trying too hard, but she’s currently wearing a red satin bra and bikini that she thought Daniel would like.
He will like them, a lot, when he finally gets to see them.
Daniel murmurs, “You know, you could stay over tonight, and we could just - fool around. Have fun.”
Everything but sex, he means, and it sounds amazing - if not quite as amazing as sex itself - and yet the thought awakens as much unease as desire. She sighs heavily and leans away from him. “I don’t know. I should know. What is my problem?”
“You don’t have a problem,” he insists. “You don’t rush into bed at the drop of a hat. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just how you are.”
“It’s also why I’ve only slept with three guys in my entire life.”
Obviously this is a highly foreign concept in Danielworld. “Three? Really?”
“How many people have you slept with? Do you even know exactly?”
Now he looks slightly seasick. “Betty, do you seriously want me to tell you that number?”
“Withdrawn.”
“I wish it were three.”
She gives him a look.
“Okay, I’m not sorry it’s higher than three, but still: I’d take a lot of it back if I could.”
“I doubt you’d take back any of the supermodels. Or Angelina Jolie,” Betty says. And that, to her chagrin, strikes down to the core. She doesn’t like this truth about herself, but she’s never been very good at long-term denial. “I guess I’m feeling insecure.”
Daniel seems more amazed by this than she would have expected. “But you - you’re more sure of yourself than anybody else I’ve ever known. You know what you’re worth. It’s more than any model. I told you that a long time ago. Remember that night on the bridge?
That was such an incredible night, and she wants to reminisce with him about it - singing karaoke, crashing the wedding, everything. But she doesn’t get distracted. “You’re doing that thing.”
“Which one of my things am I doing?”
“The thing where you put me up on a pedestal and it’s unrealistic. Trust me, I can be insecure.”
He studies her so intently that she feels herself warming from the inside out. “Even now?”
“Even now.”
Daniel laces her fingers with his and leans in close. “You have to understand this. You have to believe it.” His voice drops to hardly more than a whisper. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”
As much as she loves that he said it - that he feels it - he didn’t have to. Betty, having recognized the enemy within herself, doesn’t intend to be cowed any longer. She kisses Daniel again, finding her courage within herself and within the heat of his response.
“Come on,” she says as she rises from the couch. Betty takes his hand in hers, expecting him to follow, but Daniel holds her fast.
“Are you sure?” He frames her face in his hands. It ought to make her feel like a child, like he’s sheltering her too much, but it doesn’t; it makes her see, for the first time, that he’s a little nervous too.
“Yeah. Are you?”
Daniel doesn’t deny what she’s glimpsed in him, yet he hesitates a moment before answering. “I don’t want to put pressure on you, but -”
Putting pressure on her is so exactly the opposite of what he’s been doing that Betty isn’t sure where this might be going
“-I guess I was thinking - I want this to be the last first time.” His smile is almost bashful. “You know?”
Okay, Betty thinks, that’s scary-wonderful. But more wonderful.
“I know,” she says, and this time when she pulls him toward the bedroom, he doesn’t resist.
10. August 2010
Amanda charges out of the Meade Building elevators toward her old desk. The new receptionist, who has already learned to fear her, immediately ducks beneath the counter.
“Outta my way, bee-yotches!” Amanda prances through the hallway, one hand at her hip. An underling accidentally gets in her way, but Amanda simply shoves her aside, ignoring the scattering of papers flying through the air in her wake.
She’s all the way to Wilhelmina’s office before she remembers that Marc’s not her assistant anymore; however, he’s in there talking with Wilhelmina. The new assistant stands, as if to stop Amanda, but she shoots him a withering look that makes him freeze. Oooh, that’s a good one. She’ll have to try that look more often.
“You’re telling me the hot shoe for winter is a boot that’s … completely comfortable?” Wilhelmina picks up the offending boot by two fingers, as though it smelled bad. “And is affordable?”
“Disgraceful,” Marc affirms. “Positively anti-fashion. But we have to face facts. The mukluk is the biggest thing since the Ugg. If we don’t feature its loathsome, fringed image, we look like we’re out of the loop.”
“Out of the loop is exactly where you are,” Amanda announces.
Wilhemina scowls. “You again. How long is it going to take security to confiscate your pass?”
“I dunno,” Amanda says, inwardly glad she made so many dupes back in the days when they let her run the laminating machine. “Listen: I’m here with scoop. Hot scoop. Scalding hot. Scoop like you have never scooped before. Scoop I got from my sexy-ass boyfriend, who by the way is mega-rich, and his dad not only could buy this whole place but kinda did once -“
Marc and Wilhelmina wave her on: They’ve heard all this before. And they’ll hear it again. But right now, Amanda wants to get to the good stuff. “I just found out the real reason Daniel quit MODE and left New York.”
“It’s a scheme after all,” Wilhelmina says, nostrils flaring. It’s weird, seeing her face move that much. “I knew it.”
“Nope, not a scheme. WAY better than that.”
Marc folds his arms. “Spill, Jill!”
“Wait a second.” Amanda pulls out her cell phone and starts recording the movie of this. “OK, the real reason Daniel left New York was to move to London. To be with Betty. Because he is TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH HER and now they’re dating.”
The expressions on their faces are everything Amanda could have hoped for. She intends to watch this movie a hillion jillion times.
“Shut up,” Marc says in that way that means, Keep talking. “Shut UP.”
“It’s 100% true,” Amanda says. “Daniel told Claire, and Claire told Tyler, and Tyler told me. Plus Tyler said he knew Daniel wanted to get with Betty from, like, the day he moved out there.” What kind of boyfriend holds out with gossip like that? Tyler is so awesome in so many ways, but he needs some serious reeducation in the concept of “need to know.”
After a moment of silence, Marc says, “I know that, for the sake of my pride, I’m supposed to say something snarky now, but … I kind of think that’s awesome.”
“Me too!” Amanda squeals, hopping up and down as she claps her hands.
“Daniel Meade and Betty Suarez,” Wilhelmina says. “The mukluk is in for winter. What had happened to today? Did the world turn inside out while I wasn’t watching? Have the laws of physics been reversed? Are things going to start falling upwards?”
“Admit it,” Marc says. “You think it’s awesome too.”
“I admit nothing.” But Wilhelmina’s face moves enough for Amanda to see the smile.
**
Together, Amanda and Marc decide the only thing to do is call Betty and grill her immediately, or at least during the workday so Meade Publications has to pay the long-distance bill. They get her at home alone, since apparently Daniel’s at a meeting about dealing with his cravings or something like that.
Amanda clutches the receiver tightly, swatting off Marc’s attempts to grab it. “You know, Betty, I had sex with Daniel first.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“They say when you have sex with somebody, it’s like you’re having sex with every single person that person had sex with. So since you had sex with Daniel, it’s just like you had sex with me.”
“… I don’t think it’s actually just like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s not at all like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Put Marc on the line.”
Marc, overhearing, makes another grab for the phone, but Amanda points to her hipbone, her by-now-familiar threat to show him the Giant Evil Tweety tattoo again, which will bring the nightmares back. He cowers like Igor from torchlight.
“Betty?” she says. The words come out all quiet, because when she’s trying to be serious, sometimes her throat does this thing where it closes up. “Be so, so happy.”
“I am. We both are. Amanda - thanks.” She can hear Betty’s smile over the phone. Weird: She can still hear the braces. “And hey, I hear you have something good going on with Tyler.”
“I think so. I haven’t scared him off yet.” So far she’s making a point of wearing lingerie that covers Giant Evil Tweety. “He’s sweet to me.”
“You deserve that.”
“It was tough, though. Because there was this whole thing where I had to choose between Tyler and Matt. Choosing between two guys wasn’t as much fun as it always looks like. It kind of made me sad for a while, which was weird. But now Tyler and I are solid. Oh, hey, if I’d picked Matt, you and I would totally have been man-swapping with each other.” Amanda grins in satisfaction. “I always knew you were the freaky kind.”
“Put Marc on. Now.”
While Marc takes his turn quizzing Betty, Amanda sends the movie to the MODE MAGAZINE: ALL list that she copied back in the day. They’ll be so glad she helped spread the news.
11. From August to November 2010
The morning that Daniel wakes up next to Betty for the first time is, probably, the single best hour of his life to date. He snuggles her until she stirs, and for a while they talk drowsily about being together and listen to the rain outside, until they start making love again. It feels like the world contains exactly two people, and neither of them could ever want anyone else.
… and then Betty has to get up and go to work, and he has to run across the street in the rain to Boots to buy her a toothbrush. The business of fitting their lives together goes from the blissful to the prosaic. Somehow, the prosaic is even better. Daniel thinks that’s what makes it real.
Keys to each other’s apartments: made.
Discussion about her moving into his apartment: Trending positive, but tabled until Betty’s lease is up.
Birth control: His place, bedside table; her place, the little box on the windowsill.
Telling friends they’re a couple: Usually the easiest part, but not this time.
Hilda calls him directly one day when he’s on his way to a big meeting with Ailes. “So, my sister tells me you guys are an item now.”
“Absolutely true. But you knew that.”
“Gotta tell you, none of us saw it coming. Wait - I take that back. Justin swears that at the wedding, when you guys were dancing, there was ‘a vibe.’ But he might just be pretending to be a few steps ahead of us.”
“There was definite vibe. Justin’s a perceptive kid.”
“Betty says you’re making her really happy.”
“Hope so. She definitely makes me happy.”
“Of course she does. Because she is a wonderful human being. Which is why I have to tell you that if you hurt my baby sister, I will rip your fucking head off.”
“Hilda, that’s the last thing I want to do. And not only because I like my head attached to my body.”
“She’s about the best person on this earth. You get that, right? She deserves to be with someone who gets that.”
“Don’t worry. I know I got lucky. I’m not going to blow it.”
“You better not. And you guys better come home at Christmas.” Hilda’s casual assumption that they will still be together come wintertime makes it clear that her threat was almost a blessing; from her, that’s about the same as “welcome to the family.”
Not all such threats are as easy to deal with. The worst warning, by far - the one that makes Daniel feel like absolute shit - is a one-line message he gets on Facebook the day after Betty gets around to changing her relationship status. The note from Henry Grubstick reads only, “Treat her right.”
Daniel responds with a fairly long message apologizing profusely for his nasty trick with the law firm when Henry was interviewing there. He writes several different paragraphs about Betty - that she’s happy, that she’s wonderful, that Henry doesn’t have to worry about her - but he erases them all before he sends, because it just feels too weird talking about her with him. There’s no response.
“I guess he’s still angry,” Daniel says that night, as they sit among the dummy pages for a spring issue of FM, laid out on his living room floor. “I can’t blame him.”
“You made it right and you apologized. That’s as much as you can do. Give him time.” Betty switches two ad pages and frowns before switching them back.
“I wasn’t talking about the non-recommendation I gave the law firm. I meant, he’s angry about losing you.”
“I doubt it. Henry and I left it in a good place, you know?” She looks up at him, suddenly bright. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe I just realized this.”
“That you need to reverse the order of your stories in the feature well?”
“No, the real reason you did that to Henry. You were jealous.”
“I didn’t realize it right away either,” Daniel confesses. “But - yeah, that played a pretty big part in it. Not exactly my finest hour.”
“Everything worked out for the best,” she says, but he still doesn’t feel great about it. Then she leans forward over her pages. “Huh. You know, I think you’re right about the feature well.”
“Just try it.”
**
Crave gets its first corporate office - a couple rooms, more of a place to receive mail than anything else - next to Trafalgar Square, which is as good a location as any and also makes it possible for Betty and Daniel to do lunch.
This location also happens to be within striking distance of the brand-new London office of McKinney Designs, which is how, on his second week in business, Christina barges in unannounced. “Right, you,” she says instead of hello. “Out with it.”
“Uh - Christina. Hi. Haven’t seen you since the night of Peck’s no-show-”
“Spare me the niceties. We’re talking Betty now.”
The receptionist, who is a couple hours into her new job, looks at him panic-stricken, but Daniel waves her off as he leads Christina into his office. It’s still mostly a lot of cardboard boxes, but they can at least sit down and shut the door. “Okay, Christina. What’s up?”
She’s more flushed than he’s ever seen her on a non-Drambuie-related occasion. “I demand to know your intentions.”
“With Betty?”
“Yes, with Betty! Did you think I’d come traipsing in here to ask you what your intentions are for teatime? If you’ve hooked up with her because you think she’ll adore you and pet you and take care of all your messes like she used to do and look the other way while you go tomcatting around, I can tell you right now, plenty of her friends will see to it that this tomcat gets spayed.” She frowns. “Or neutered. Whichever you do to a boy. I can never remember.”
“Dammit, why does everyone assume that I’m going to take advantage of Betty?”
“Because you’ve proved you’re pretty good at it,” Christina shoots back.
Daniel takes a couple of deep breaths, but it doesn’t calm him down much. “One. I love Betty. I only want to make her happy, and I’m going to do everything in my power to take care of her. Two. I know I’ve made some mistakes. I earned every bit of my reputation. But I’m not that guy anymore. Betty knows it, and someday the rest of you are going to see it too. Three. I’m getting sick and tired of everyone acting like Betty is too stupid or too defenseless to know what she’s getting into. If you really believe she’s so easy to push around, then, excuse me, but you don’t know her as well as you think.”
After several silent seconds, Christina smiles. “Do you know, that’s as much sense as I’ve ever heard out of you?”
“And here I thought Wilhelmina was the master of the backhanded compliment.”
“You’re getting some real backbone to you. I like it.” More quietly, she says, “And Betty’s positively glowing these days. Must be more to that than your inseam.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Now, talk to me about Crave. You’re not going live without the boldest new designer out of Scotland included, are you?”
Daniel’s remaining temper does battle with the fact that, really, Christina and some other up-and-comers would be good targets; business wins.
**
Among their projects as a couple is learning to cook, because London is expensive enough without eating out or getting delivery food every day. Neither of them is starting with a lot of knowledge, which leads to some non-meals.
“How can meatloaf be green?” Betty prods the middle with a wooden spoon; it seems to quiver.
“That can’t be right.”
“If this is right, I’d hate to see what wrong looked like.”
“Maybe we should go back to basics. Soup. Spaghetti sauce. That stuff.”
“How can we go back to basics when we’re still there?”
“We’ve made a lot of progress,” Daniel insists. “Two months ago, our combined culinary skills were just enough to keep us from burning toast.”
This gets him an all-judging butterfly look from Betty.
He sighs. “Okay, this morning the toast didn’t turn out so great, but we’re getting better.”
“We’re getting better generally,” Betty says as she dumps the still-steaming meatloaf into the trash. “Tonight? We’re getting takeout.”
Unfortunately, Betty chooses to order some scallops that may have been out of the sea too long, and the rest of their weekend is spent with her ill in his bed. Daniel provides ginger ale service and rubs her back when she thinks it will help.
Sunday afternoon, as she sleeps fitfully in his bed, Daniel hears her cell ring and elects to answer it. “Betty’s phone.”
“Daniel?”
“Mr. Suarez! Hi. How’s it going?” Where was it Betty said he’d visited? “Did you have a good time in Florida?”
“You better believe it. But where’s Betty?” When Daniel explains the situation, Ignacio immediately becomes very businesslike. “She needs to keep something down. A nice rich chicken broth is the best. That will put her right in no time.”
“Can I get that at the store?”
“Not the good stuff. That has to be homemade. You got a pencil?”
Daniel jots down the recipe for Ignacio’s special chicken broth, which seems to involve using and then throwing away a whole chicken, but, okay. This is one cooking job he’ll just have to get right the first time. Ignacio talks him through the whole process, including a couple of things that can go wrong, so he’s feeling good about it.
Once they’re done, Ignacio says, “Tell my mija that I love her and she should call me when she’s feeling better, okay?”
“Will do.” Daniel hesitates. “Mr. Suarez - ah, we haven’t talked since before Betty and I -”
“Not since Hilda’s wedding,” Ignacio says easily. “But sounds like we’ll be talking a lot more from now on.”
“I hope so.”
“Remember the day I met you?”
Inwardly, Daniel groans. He was hung over as all hell that day. Within five minutes of meeting Ignacio Suarez, he’d thrown up in front of him. Not exactly the ideal first impression. “… yeah.”
“You were a mess. But you showed me that day you had a kind heart. Buying us that Christmas tree, helping Justin with the decorations, defending him when he caught all that crap from Santos, God rest his soul. I always remember that.”
Daniel always forgets how loving they are, that Betty’s immense goodness isn’t something she made up all by herself. “I still think that’s the best Christmas celebration I’ve ever had.”
“Well, we’ve still got your stocking ornament. Maybe next month you’ll hang it up with us again, hmm?”
“I’m planning on it.”
“Then that’s all I needed to hear. Now - get cooking.”
**
He gets the chicken broth right, or close enough, because Betty’s able to have a whole cup at lunchtime the next day. Daniel works from the apartment just to keep an eye out. Although Betty called in sick and didn’t bring any work home with her, she’s bored after three days in bed and wants to talk with him about Crave. Good thing, too: He’s at a point where he needs to bounce some ideas off her.
“The weak link in our whole model? The chips. Right now, they’re not a significant factor - the designers buy them and that’s the end of it, but you know the manufacturer is going to try to get a piece of this.” Daniel’s been puzzling over this for a couple weeks now; he keeps thinking of new options, each worse than the last. “They could try to license them as intellectual property. They could come up with a new chip that we’re not allowed to use without a fee. Gareth’s firm says we could structure our contracts to get the designers to absorb any costs there, but that’s going to lose us some of the up and comers.”
Betty leans back on a pile of pillows, still pale and weak, but her focus is sharp. “Honestly? You’re thinking too small.”
“What do you mean?”
“Buy the chip company. There’s only the single main one, you said. And it’s not a huge business. So, buy it. Then you’re in control of both sides of the equation. And when they come up with the next technology, you’ll own that, too.”
“God, that would be brilliant.” Daniel squeezes her foot. “But that company won’t go cheap.”
“Daniel, you’re a millionaire. A multimillionaire. You’re rich enough to do stuff like that, right?”
“Barely. Meade’s not what it used to be.” He does a very rough version of the math. “We could get it, but - if Crave doesn’t take off, I’ll be broke. For real, this time.”
“There are worse things than broke. I should know.” Quickly, however, she becomes more serious. “It depends on how big a risk you think you’d be taking. Whatever it is, I know you’ll make the right decision.”
This show of faith, however unwarranted, straightens his spine. Daniel says, “No more thinking small.” Betty grins, and his choice is made.
**
Continued in Part Three --
( Part One
Part Four)