Free Cosmopolitan Girls by Charlotte Burley Page A

him,” I said as we reached the subway station.
    â€œYeah, well, in the meantime you go home and make love to that man of yours. Get a yell in for me too, honey!”
    â€œYou’re a character!” I laughed as Kyle blew me a kiss.
    I ran down the subway stairs, feeling and smelling the blowing wind, a sure sign that a train was coming. I skipped the last two steps and landed solidly on both feet. A jazz trio played a spicy “Girl from Ipanema.” The tired booth operator wearing a bright blue wig popped her fingers to the beat. I breezed past, tossing a handful of loose change into the musician’s money hat, because he was doing the song proud. I quickly slid my Metro card through the machine, amazed it worked on the first try. I pushed through the dull chrome turnstile and jumped onto the platform, just as the doors of the A train opened.
    â€œYes!” I said, squeezing myself into the train. The patrons were packed in like sardines.
    Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any train delays, and I would beat Michael home, take a shower, and cook his favorite meal: pan-fried chicken breast, homemade mashed potatoes, and French-style green beans. Thank God I remembered to defrost the chicken.
    â€œNext stop . . . Utica Station!”
    The muffled mixture of the conductor’s voice and heavy static blared from an old worn-down intercom. The newly renovated station, freshly painted in red, black, and white, was coming into view. I was pressed up against the doors. When the subway car stopped, I flew out, running up the steps.
    â€œRenovation my ass! How about putting in a friggin’ escalator!” I announced. My heart was beating so fast I had to rest for a minute when I got to street level, but I was rejuvenated by the thought of the much-needed lovemaking session I was planning for my baby and me. I decided to stop wasting time and energy thinking about a bunch of unvalidated suspicions. I smiled and headed home.
    â€œDamn it!” I yelled, dropping my keys, rushing to get inside. The apartment was still. I turned the lights on. It was just like I had left it that morning, immaculate and intact. “No kids, no kids, no kids!” I chanted as I ran into the laundry room, peeling off every article of clothing except my bra and panties, and throwing them into the corner hamper.
    I’d had one hellacious day. I walked into the kitchen, automatically opened the refrigerator to pull out the chicken. Hell no! I stopped myself and reached for a beer instead. Yeah, one of Michael’s favorites, Heineken. To tell the truth, I didn’t feel like cooking a damn thing. I popped the cap and took a hard swig. What the hell am I breaking my back to be Donna Reed for? It would be nice if Michael offered to take me out to dinner for a change, or run me a hot bath after a rough day at the office.
    I plopped down on the sofa, still in my underwear, and polished off the entire beer. The more I thought about Miranda having the nerve to put me off for the fourth damn time like I’m unimportant, the more I wanted to go and get another beer. I decided against it. Beer got me drunk fast, and I was already feeling a little buzzed.
    Michael would be home soon. At least I hoped he would. He’d been working
a lot
of overtime and needed a hot meal, me too for that matter. Cooking helps me release tension, anyway. Instead of having another drink I’d take my anger out on the pots. It was final. I would get in that kitchen and cook us up the best damn dinner we’ve ever had.
    I threw the pots and pans onto the stove. I was good at multitasking, so while the food was cooking, I rushed back into the laundry room and finished undressing. As I turned to exit the room, I took a moment to notice the cute but tiny space. I smiled, thinking back to the day Michael walked me in here blindfolded, and when he removed the blindfold, surprise crept over my face, from ear to ear.
    Michael had turned this