Naomi & Bradley Reality Shows... (Vodka & Vice the Series Book 3) Read online

  Naomi & Bradley

  REALITY SHOWS…

  A Contemporary Romantic Comedy

  Vodka & Vice, the Series

  Book 3

  By

  Angela J. Conrad &

  Kathleen Hesser Skrzypczak

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  The Russian reveal

  Chapter Two

  Why I stay downtown

  Chapter Three

  The Russian front

  Chapter Four

  Sing, LaLa, sing

  Chapter Five

  The Russian howitzers

  Chapter Six

  Shoulda put a ring on it

  Chapter Seven

  The sweet and the bitter

  Chapter Eight

  April Tool’s Day

  Chapter Nine

  The lyin’ sack of…

  Chapter Ten

  Turtle dreams

  Chapter Eleven

  The confessional

  Chapter Twelve

  The show must go on

  Chapter Thirteen

  Living vicariously

  Chapter Fourteen

  Let’s go all Jason Bourne on their asses

  Chapter Fifteen

  The white flag

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mail, black

  Chapter Seventeen

  Late night hero

  Chapter Eighteen

  The fan’s been hit

  Chapter Nineteen

  Five Slotzkys too many

  Chapter Twenty

  Where’s that other shoe?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Snuck out, struck out

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Who’s zoomin’ who?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Den of the lioness

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mayday! Mayday!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bet my life on my man

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The end

  Copyright 2016 © Angela J Conrad and Kathleen Hesser Skrzypczak

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

  Naomi & Bradley, Reality Shows… Vodka & Vice, The Series is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ASIN: B01GQV96JW

  Copyright 2016 © Original photos by Allan Hansford

  Cover design by Carol’s Cover Design http://carolscoverdesigns.com

  Chapter One

  The Russian reveal

  NAOMI

  New York City, Friday, February 18th

  We enter the magnificent old building in the East Eighties. A doorman opens the door and a young lady behind a pricey front desk flashes us a warm smile and says, “Mr. Dobrov, Miss Swanson, Mrs. Lucille Rochefort De La Cologne is expecting you. Go on up.”

  We walk toward a golden bank of elevators holding hands like kids. There’s one open toward the end of a row of four. It has a brass plate announcing the word, PENTHOUSE, embellished on it. That’s the one Bradley heads straight to and I remember he’s been here before with Manny. Bradley presses me against the mirrored wall and closes me in with his arms; he leans down and madly kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him even closer, totally forgetting my fear of elevators. I balance on my toes and whisk my tongue against his.

  “I love you Bradley, I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I love you back Naomi. I can’t wait to be with you again.”

  We laugh at nothing and everything.

  We are zipped to the top of Manhattan on a dream and a cloud. When the doors open, Bradley whispers, “Your aunt has lots of staff up here. We’d better control ourselves.”

  I giggle and stand straighter, adjusting the roses I have brought for LaLa. When we step out of the elevators, no one is present to greet us, offer to take our coats, or show us inside.

  “Wow, it’s impressive up here, just like you described it, but where’s that fancy upstairs doorman or imperial butler you promised?”

  Bradley looks puzzled and shrugs. We both lean around the corner and see a massive white room, with white furniture, a white marble fireplace with a roaring fire. It’s gorgeous. Classical music is playing loudly from unseen speakers and the city flickers outside a wall of windows to our left.

  Bradley takes my arm and pulls me back, “This is weird, I thought someone would be out here, last time with Manny it was full of staff.” It’s quiet except for the music which all at once seems strangely too loud and it has a sinister feeling to it.

  Then double mahogany doors swing open to our right and Chase steps out into the hallway and grins.

  “Welcome home Naomi, my own little half-sister, good to see you again.”

  I stumble and Bradley grabs my arm to steady me.

  “You too Bradley Dobrov, though we all hoped to see the last of you. Guess you’re part of the dog and pony show now.”

  Chase looks different. No more casual sweaters or tight jeans. His blonde hair is newly cut and styled with thick gel. He’s wearing an expensive Stanley Korshak Italian suit, a dark wool with two buttons holding the tight jacket closed. I scan down and gasp at the beautiful handmade Bontoni loafers. It’s as if someone dipped an alley cat in a magic bucket of cream and transformed him into a runway mannequin. I am so surprised to see him here in my aunt’s penthouse, so altered, that it takes me a few seconds to register his startling words.

  “What do you mean Chase? I don’t have a brother. Is that supposed to be funny?”

  He smirks. “I find it rather amusing Naomi. Seems you’ve been left in the dark about a lot of things.”

  I remember the lies he told me about Bradley, how he manipulated me into breaking up with my lover, and my voice sharpens.

  “Why all the lies about Bradley? What are you trying to do?”

  Bradley goes to step around me and confront him when another thickly accented voice calls our names from inside the warm white room.

  “Bradley Dobrov, Naomi Swanson, what are you doing out there? Show them in Chase.”

  The canned music abruptly stops, and I feel Bradley’s strong arm circle my back.

  “It’s okay baby, I’m with you. Let go see what’s going on.”

  Chase stands back, bows and waves us through the mahogany doors like the queen’s own private butler.

  We step inside and I feel Bradley’s fingers tighten around my waist. He recognizes someone.

  The enormous showroom is like a snow globe peppered with upscale black suits, all white elegance, do
tted with several men wearing expensive wool. The air is heavy with smoke from cigarettes, and the crackling fire dancing in the background highlights the similarity of all the males in the room. They’re all holding a cognac or some other brandy-colored liquor in costly cordial glasses in one hand, and a Black Russian smoke in the other. The group’s proud stance, their aggressive posture, the matching handsome features, the room resembles a very European high-end ad campaign. I can almost smell the testosterone mixing with the smoke, combining in the air to form a toxic thunderstorm.

  I glance down, my bouquet of bright red roses looks terribly out of place, and I lay them on a side table to free up my perspiring hand.

  The largest man, a veritable mountain, sporting a full black beard, rushes up to us, and embraces us both at once. He smells rich and spicy. I can’t help but draw in a breath of cocoa, flowers, and cardamom. Serge Lutens, Paris. He further surprises and shocks by kissing Bradley and me soundly on both cheeks before roaring, “Dobrov! I see why we couldn’t shake you so easily from her. And you!” He grabs me, lifts me off the ground, and twirls me around in a giant circle laughing, “You are the image of your mother Beverly, but better, this crazy hair, a mane of black magnificence, these long legs like your father, hot to trot hey?”

  I look over at Bradley with a “What the fuck?” And he shrugs and says, “Hello Mr. Slotzky.”

  The older grizzly bear of a man kisses me harder this time on the lips and sticks his long nose deep into my hair, “Hell, you smell fabulous. I can look at you, those heavy gray eyes, and dream about hot Russian fireplaces, and your creamy white skin against mine. I was not so excited at first, hearing that Viktor was bumbling his chances to marry you, but my boy assures me everything is back on course.”

  “That’s not happening now,” Bradley says, but they all ignore him and circle me, hand us both drinks and raise their cut crystal glasses into the air and shout in Russian, “Za vstrechu!”

  Then another dark figure steps out of the shadows and states, “To the high-rise building over on Chambers Street, to Carl Swartz for making it happen, and to Naomi who’s going to help finance the entire project! To Naomi, my niece!”

  Chapter Two

  Why I stay downtown

  BRADLEY

  Friday, February 18th

  When Chase appears, I almost don’t recognize him. He’s decked out in what I think is a Stanley Korshak suit and expensive-looking loafers. He says this ludicrous thing about Naomi being his half-sister. Right out of the gate. There’s no way. If it were true, he would have told her earlier, right? I mean, why keep something like that from her? I slip my arm around her like Chase is going to snatch her away. She’s full of the same questions I’m asking, but he ignores them. Then it gets weirder. I hear a voice from my childhood calling out from the living room.

  “Bradley Dobrov, Naomi Swanson, what are you doing out there? Show them in Chase.”

  My heart is beating a hole through my shirt. I tighten my grip on Naomi’s waist as Chase bows and motions us through. What does he want? A tip? I move forward both wanting to see and not wanting to.

  It can’t be, I think, after all these years. I thought he was killed in that massacre out in Brooklyn. 1987, ‘88 maybe. But sure enough, as we enter the room I see him: Fedor Slotzky, Viktor’s father. He comes at us like a tidal wave and wraps his big bear paws around us. I’m not sure what Naomi is thinking as she endures his double cheek kisses. Next thing I know, he sniffing her hair. I’m in shock. It’s like being hugged by a ghost. Naomi shoots me her patented, ‘what the fuck’ look, but all I can do is say hello, like I’m back in middle school.

  He starts going on and on about Viktor marrying Naomi so I set him straight.

  “That’s not happening now,” I inform him.

  As though I didn’t say anything, no, as though I’m not even there, the whole group of black suited men surrounds Naomi. They shove glasses of amber liquid into our hands and toast our good health in Russian. I’m not drinking any of it. For all I know, it’s poisoned. I check Naomi, who must be thinking the same thing. As the men clap each other on the back and refill each other’s drinks, a small figure slips out from the shadows. A glass is raised, diamond-encrusted Patek-Philippe Twenty 4 watch glittering in the firelight. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  “To the high-rise building over on Chambers Street, to Carl Swartz for making it happen, and to Naomi who’s going to help finance the entire project! To Naomi, my niece!”

  LaLa glides into our little circle and up to Naomi, who has gone pale as the whey protein I put in my shakes. She takes Naomi’s face in her tiny hands, a single emerald-cut diamond on her left ring finger.

  “Oh my dear, I’ve waited so long to meet you. You are the absolute portrait of your mother. I’m so sorry she kept you from me all these years.”

  I’m pretty sure my girl’s about to pass out, so I take control of the situation.

  “LaLa! What’s going on here? Can’t you see you’re scaring her?”

  I take Naomi by the arm and pull her from LaLa’s grip and the tight circle of Russian clones. They step aside and I catch Naomi just as she faints.

  Mr. Slotzky is suddenly all business. He barks orders for cold cloths and ice water. Everyone scatters like cockroaches after a light is switched on. A man materializes out of nowhere carrying a doctor’s bag and pries Naomi’s lids open, shines a pen light on the pupil, takes her pulse. He nods to LaLa.

  “It will all be fine, Bradley. The doctor assures me she has only fainted, and she will probably come to in a few minutes. It may be that she’s not eaten enough today.”

  “You got all that from a nod?”

  “Some of it. You see, her mother used to faint quite a bit as well, usually more if she was slimming down for some big event.”

  Cold cloths arrive and are placed on Naomi’s head. I concentrate on patting her shoulder, whispering her name. I need her to be here with me, pronto. The room has gone quiet as we wait. It’s so quiet, that when the elevator doors open we all turn at once.

  “KuKu! What did they do to you?” Viktor comes bounding into the room like a Siberian Husky and kneels down next to Naomi. He doesn’t seem to notice me.

  “Hello, Viktor,” I say with as much disdain as I can muster. I’m about to lay into him when Naomi comes to. Her eyes go wide as manhole covers at the sight of Viktor’s big head hovering over hers. I squeeze her hand twice, one of our signals. She looks over at me.

  “Take me home, Bradley. I’ve had enough.”

  Chapter Three

  The Russian front

  NAOMI

  Friday, February 18th

  The armed forces of the Russian Federation surround me. I feel like the city of Berlin in 1945. I wave my arms around, hoping they’ll all understand the sign language and back up, but they hover over me like aircraft and I clear my throat and say, “Please move back, I can’t breathe.”

  My beautiful Bradley helps me up and the cold compress drops to the floor with an icy thump. I look around. Chase, the mastermind of our breakup, Viktor my past lover and roomie, LaLa my newly found aunt, and a strange man who I suppose to be Viktor’s father. I eye the other two dark figures and they step even closer and say, “Aleksey and Luka Slotzky, we are Viktor’s brothers. Happy to meet you Naomi. Welcome to the family.”

  “No, you can’t leave yet,” gushes LaLa. She pushes through the man throng and hugs me. She smells divine, her skin still soft, and smooth against my cheek. “We must talk, come with me.”

  Taking my hand, and refusing my refusal, LaLa leads me to a pale golden chair by the fireplace and gently pushes me down. I look around for Bradley, and sigh with relief to see him standing behind me. He places his hands on my shoulders, leans down, and asks, “Hey, you okay?”

  I look up, into those crystal blue eyes I love so much and nod. This is our chance to learn what’s going on and I have to stay and listen.

  Chase and all the Russian men are in a huddle, like halfti
me at a football game, and I wonder if they are reciting their playbook. I decide to take charge.

  “I’d like some answers,” I blurt into the now silent room.

  The men all pivot and I see a startling new manifestation on Viktor’s face. He’s glancing at Bradley and I catch a shocking look which radiates hatred or jealously, or both. Was this all over me? Does Viktor really love me, or is it just part of this game Bradley and I have been drafted into without our consent. Maybe Bradley is right about his friend’s rivalry, because Viktor looks like a man ready to throw a punch.

  Everyone shifts, sits down, refills their glasses, and looks expectantly at me.

  “I want to know a lot of things. Why this man called Chase lied to me, deliberately broke up my relationship with Bradley. Now, he’s claiming to be my half-brother, let’s start there. Who are you really?”

  Bradley squeezes my shoulder, and glancing up, I see he’s handing me a drink. I whisper thanks and look directly at Chase.

  Chase, all arrogance now, very different from his behavior at the gym, stands and leans on the white marble mantel.

  “We decided Dobrov was in the way, so with Molly’s help, I convinced you he was cheating. I must say Naomi; you fell for it like a naïve child. All those times I laid it on thick about Bradley’s dominant/submissive games, your face, it was priceless.” He laughs and my temper boils.

  “Your trick hurt me, hurt both of us. It’s not funny! Why was Bradley in the way of whatever devious plan you all have going?”

  “It would be better if we married KuKu,” Viktor adds, staring Bradley down. “My father likes to have all the players together, the same family, united. We are a better couple anyway, I have more to offer.”

  I just glare, my eyes narrow to slits, and I think I growl. How is all of this subversion even possible? Didn’t I meet Viktor by random chance at the yoga class, or did he follow me, insert himself there? The damn bounder, him, so out of place, his mat overlapping mine, the pressure to have coffee with him afterwards, the man needing a room to rent…in Tribeca! I was a stupid, naïve girl. I feel myself blushing red and I swallow down my anger.