After Office Hours

by E Caroline Wilson

  This weekend they’d be going back to the Hamptons; a friend of David’s was having a party out there. Devin asked if his family members would be at the house this weekend, and he said no, they had other plans. Once more she was disappointed at not getting to meet them, but felt a spark of encouragement; at least she’d get to meet some of his friends. They planned to drive out super early Saturday morning and return either Sunday after breakfast or before dawn Monday morning; either time would help them beat the notorious traffic heading back into the city.

  Right now they were trying to set up where they would meet for dinner after work tonight. They usually went to restaurants on the Upper West Side, in the area north of Ninety-sixth Street known as Manhattan Valley, where they would enjoy long, lingering meals complete with wine. Then tomorrow she’d bring her clothes for the weekend with her to work in a nylon duffel bag she’d bought, telling any coworkers who asked that she was going to the gym after work. She and David would spend a quiet evening at his place before heading out to the island early Saturday morning.

  Since Glenys’s wedding David had developed a taste for Dominican food, and while there were several restaurants serving that cuisine uptown, Devin wanted a change of pace. She recommended a charming Italian bistro they been to before on Amsterdam Avenue. The location was particularly convenient, since parking was a little easier. David brought his car and drove her home after dinner instead of putting her in an Uber as his guest.

  She made the recommendation and held her cellphone in her palm, waiting for his response. He usually answered her texts right away, unless he was on a phone call or tending to some other matter that required his immediate attention. She thought nothing of it when no return message popped up. That meant he was simply busy.

  Her ears, sensitive to the sound of the photocopiers humming in the copy room behind her reception desk, went on alert when the rather noisy copier, which had been collating a multipage report one of the attorneys needed for a meeting in the morning, suddenly went quiet. She filled the paper dispensers every morning, so a paper jam must have shut things down. She glanced at the phone in her hand one last time to see if David had agreed to the meeting place she had suggested. But she saw nothing, so she put the phone down and went through the swinging gate at the rear of her semicircular reception desk and into the copy room.

  Melanie, returning from the ladies’ room in the hall, hung the key on the hook on the side wall of the reception desk just as the familiar sound of a cellphone notification went off. Devin wasn’t at her desk. From the sounds coming from the copy room, Melanie guessed she was adding paper or perhaps fixing a paper jam. She’d left her cellphone behind.

  Melanie leaned over for a better look. With her skill at reading upside down she saw the message was from David. “It’s a date,” he’d written. “Seven o’clock.” The message concluded with the name of the restaurant where they would meet.

  Her jaws tightened. It still ticked her off that David had chosen Devin over her. Then she smiled. This was just what she’d been looking for, solid information she could go to Marianne Baxter with. Of course, she couldn’t say she’d been snooping in Devin’s cellphone any more than she could say she’d done that with David’s. But she could look up the name of the restaurant so she’d know where it was located, and then claim to Marianne that she’d actually been there and seen the two of them having dinner together. She wondered if that would be enough to get Marianne to take action. Maybe she should make up something else.

  No, she decided. No need to get carried away. Surely some action would be taken. She hung the key on the hook and continued on to her desk.

  She kept repeating the two-word name of the restaurant. The second word was the number 106, which she suspected was its location. Sure enough, when she entered the name into her computer, she saw it was located on West One-hundred-sixth Street, east of Columbus Avenue. There were no other restaurants in New York with that name, and Melanie was certain she had the right place. The out-of-the-way location suited a couple who was obviously trying to keep a low profile.

  Her mood had changed in mere seconds from outrage to smug satisfaction.

  David Andrews had blown it by choosing Devin when he could have had her. And now he would pay.

  Both of them would.

  *****

  David made them breakfast when they got to the house in Quogue, which, like before, they had to themselves. David said his brother and his family were weekending on Martha’s Vineyard with his sister-in-law’s family. He didn’t mention the whereabouts of his parents, which she found telling.

  After breakfast, they volleyed some tennis balls back and forth and took a walk on the beach. Now that the season had begun there were more people present, but the beach could hardly be called crowded. Devin had a feeling these beaches were never populated with blanket-to-blanket people, the way Jones Beach was on summer weekends.

  As he’d promised, David brought her out to Montauk, on the very eastern tip of the island. The drive there took an hour on Montauk Highway, which wasn’t really a highway, but a regular street with traffic lights every few blocks, which in many spots was just one lane in each direction. David explained that the Sunday drive home could easily take four hours from towns further out on the island, like Montauk and East Hampton, because this was the only road until the Long Island Expressway could be picked up.

  They had a seafood lunch at a restaurant at the ocean’s edge, sitting at a table outdoors. It fascinated Devin that the water extended as far as her eye could see, something that had never occurred to her during her trips to Jones Beach closer to the city. Perhaps it was because it was so much more peaceful out here.

  She ordered a lobster roll, while David ordered a seafood platter, which was enough food for two. She thought she noticed him looking at her strangely when she raised the sandwich to her lips. Taking a bite, she made a face. “It’s cold!”

  He burst out laughing. “It’s supposed to be served cold. In that respect it’s the same as tuna fish or chicken salad. I wasn’t sure you knew that.”

  “Oh.” She lowered the roll to her plate. “I’m kinda disappointed.” She also felt a bit embarrassed. The other women he dated would have known that. Would she ever fit into his world?

  “You can bring it home and heat it up.” He gestured to the large platter in the center of the table. “Now you know why I ordered a platter for two. And everything is hot, including the lobster. C’mon, help yourself.” He handed her the second plate.

  Chapter 16

  The party was held at a house in neighboring Westhampton Beach, the westernmost village of the Hamptons and the one closest to the city.

  David’s friends rented a simple ranch house that looked like it dated back to the sixties, on what was probably most times a quiet residential street. It sat on a spacious lot, though, and had a nice-sized pool and cabana in the backyard, along with a large wood deck. There was plenty of land between the house and those on either side of it as well, which was a good thing, because the music was awfully loud.

  Devin saw several tents pitched on the side of the house. “Looks like people are camping out,” she remarked.

  David shrugged. “Hotel rooms out here are outrageously expensive. I guess some folks decided to get creative. Sometimes people will do anything to get out of the city. Or it might be group B trying to spend every weekend out here.”

  “Group B?”

  “People usually divide summer rentals into an even number of weekends. Your typical three-bedroom house will have six renters every other weekend, two people per bedroom. They divide the cost of the rental by the total number of renters. The person who arranges the rental—in this case my friend, Jeremy—charges those who buy shares enough to cover some or all of his share, which means he gets to stay in that cabana—” he nodded in the direction of the pool house on the other side of the pool, near the fence on the rear line of the property—”every weekend, for free…provided he’s able t
o sell all the shares.”

  Devin nodded, understanding. She counted three tents and decided David’s second theory was likely the correct one—the six people who rented rooms inside the house could still get out of the city each weekend, if they were willing to sleep in a tent on their ‘off’ weekends. “Smart.”

  The yard was full of men and women, some of the women wearing bikinis, showing off tanned, lithe bodies. A few people were in the pool. Others were dancing, and a few already appeared slightly inebriated to Devin. A built-in self-service bar stood near the edge of the house, nearly bordering the driveway.

  “Do you know all these people?” she asked.

  “Only a few mutual friends. But Jeremy sold shares to a total of twelve people, all of whom probably invited their friends today. Oh, there he is.”

  Devin smiled at the man approaching them. He was tall and dark-haired, with a toothy grin. “Hey, David! Glad you could make it.”

  They shook hands briefly, and then the man offered a hand to Devin. “Jeremy Randall. Welcome.”

  “Thank you. Devin DaCosta.” He didn’t seem the least bit surprised at her being black. She wondered if David had alerted him in advance. Then again, she had spotted a few brown faces among the guests, so maybe it was no big deal. “I’m glad to be here.”

  “Make yourselves at home. The bar’s over there—” he pointed to it. And the food is under the canopy, there.” Devin looked in the direction he indicated, which held several chafing dishes and covered bowls placed inside larger, ice-filled glass bowls, along with paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils.

  “We brought you a little something for your bar,” David said, holding out a discreet brown paper bag. “Devin likes wine, so we brought some Riesling along with the Tito’s.”

  “Thanks a lot. You guys feel free to take a dip.”

  Somebody better keep an eye on the pool, Devin thought, to make sure nobody drowns. Alcohol and swimming don’t mix.

  David took her hand. “Later, man. We’re gonna mingle.”

  Devin poured herself a glass of wine and found a vacant lounge chair. She sat in it, assuring David she was all right. David, in his typically friendly manner, began circulating through the crowd, introducing himself. Devin relaxed, sipping her wine, content to ‘people watch’.

  A black woman with a mop of sopping wet hair came and sat in the vacant chair next to Devin’s lounger. “Hi. I must have missed you when you came in. I’m Andrea Mason.”

  “Devin DaCosta.”

  “I was probably in the pool,” Andrea said chattily. She leaned in slightly and said in a low voice, “Once I go in, I have to keep getting wet, because between you and me, I can’t let this hair get dry without a good shampooing and a river of conditioner. It’ll be a raggedy mess, plus I don’t feel like explaining the concept of shrinkage to a lot of clueless white folks.” She did an open assessment of Devin’s hair, which was pulled into a pony tail at the nape of her neck, the front portion appear straight while pulled tight, the pony tail bushy. “You’re lucky. Your hair is thick, but it’s not kinky like mine.”

  Devin decided she liked this down-to-earth young woman. “You’re lucky to know how to swim. I never go in water any higher than my waist.” She paused before confiding, “I feel a little out of place with this swimming and tennis-playing crowd.”

  “You shouldn’t. They’re just people from the city. Tell me, who did you come with?”

  “David Andrews. He’s a friend of the person who rented the house.”

  “Oh, David!”

  “You know David?” Devin’s voice squeaked with happy surprise.

  “Yes, he and Jeremy are good friends. Jeremy and I have been dating for a number of months.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. He introduced me to Jeremy when we arrived.”

  “Funny. There are four blacks here, us and two guys. You’d think we’d be paired off, but all our dates are white.”

  “That is kinda weird, isn’t it?” Devin said with a smile.

  “Have you been seeing David long?”

  “No, not long. Just a few weeks.”

  “Have you met his parents? I know he lives in their townhouse, even though he has his own private living space. Jeremy said the house has been in their family for generations.” Andrea grinned and said in a soft sing-song voice, “Money, money.”

  “No, I haven’t met them yet.” Devin did not elaborate, and she hoped she sounded more casual than she felt about what had become a sore subject for her.

  “Well, don’t feel bad. Like I said, Jeremy and I have dating for almost five months, and I haven’t met his parents, either.” Andrea sighed. “I’m starting to think he’s resisting it. I asked him if they know I’m black, and he said—” she gave a wry chuckle, “—‘it never came up’. I don’t see what the big deal is,” she complained. “I mean, if British royalty can marry black, anyone should be able to.”

  Devin chuckled. “I don’t believe a lot of Americans are particularly impressed by the British royal family. I know I’m not. My mother says they’ve become more dignified, but that twenty, thirty years ago they were just scandalous. And don’t believe for a minute that everyone approves of Prince Harry marrying Meghan Markle.”

  “You’re right.” Andrea made a face. “Well, if you’ve only been dating David for a few weeks, it’s still early. But Jeremy and I have been together for months. He tells me he loves me, but he’s made no move to introduce me to his family. Plus, he’s resisted meeting mine.” Andrea sighed. “Well, I can’t say I’m not enjoying coming out here every weekend, but if nothing happens on that front by the end of the summer, I’m going to end it. Wish me luck.”

  “I wish you luck.” So Andrea had the same concerns she did, Devin thought. She took solace in the knowledge that she and David hadn’t been dating anywhere near as long as five months. She suspected that despite Jeremy’s declaration of love, he had no intention of introducing Andrea to his family, and the reason was most likely her race. The fact that he’d chosen not to meet her family suggested to Devin that he didn’t take Andrea seriously. Still, she hoped this plucky young woman got the happy ending she obviously wanted.

  “Here’s the man!” Andrea said, smiling as David approached. She stood up and indicated that he should take her seat, greeting him with a quick hug.

  “What’re you doing, getting up?” he said. “I don’t want to take your seat.”

  “No, go ahead. I was just about to get up anyway. See you guys later.”

  “Bye, Andrea,” Devin said. After David sat down, she turned to him and said, “She’s nice.”

  “Yes, she is. How about a dip?”

  Jeremy pulled David aside after he and Devin got out of the pool. “Wow! You really hit the jackpot with that one. She’s a beaut, with a kick-ass body. Where’d you meet her?”

  David expected to be asked that question, and he had his answer ready. “She came to me for help with a minor legal problem. Landlord trouble.”

  Jeremy looked confused. “I don’t get it. She came to Holt & Cotten for legal help? I would have thought she’d find a lawyer uptown.”

  “She, um, was working in the building.” David didn’t want to tell Jeremy that Devin’s mother, the firm’s custodian, had asked him to see her. “Actually, Devin’s working for the firm now. It’s a temporary assignment, while our receptionist is on maternity leave.”

  “That sounds cool. You give her the romance treatment while she’s working there, and then when she leaves, you break it off.”

  “That sounds awfully callous, don’t you think?” David grinned as he spoke. He didn’t want to be too critical of his friend. After all, as soon as he saw Devin’s sex tape, he’d thought the same thing. But that was then; this was now. Spending time with Devin only made him want to spend more time with her. Sure, part of the attraction was sexual, but his interest in her wasn’t limited to what they did in bed. He genuinely liked being with her. And it didn’t bother him one bit that there
were things she didn’t know, like that lobster rolls were served cold, at least here on Long Island. On the other side of the Sound, in Connecticut, they were served hot with melted butter.

  “I don’t know about breaking up with her after she leaves the firm,” he said to Jeremy. “I like her, man. She’s fun to be with. Plus, she’s so different from anyone else I’ve known.”

  Jeremy licked his lips. “I’ll say. Her last name sounds Spanish. What is she, part Puerto Rican or something?”

  “No. She was born here in New York, but both her parents came from the Dominican Republic. A lot of Dominicans are black.”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said with admiration. “That’s where those asses come from, although white Latinas like J. Lo have them, too. She’s really built, man. I know you’ve been bangin’ that booty every chance you get.”

  David began to feel uncomfortable. Jeremy was a good friend of many years’ standing, but damn it, his sex life with Devin was not something that was open for discussion. His face hardened, but Jeremy didn’t seem to notice.

  “Yeah, man,” he was saying. “I haven’t gone—the crime rate down there makes me a little nervous—but I’ve got friends who go down to Punta Cana just to get some of that juicy Dominican snatch. Those women down there love Americans and their money.”

  David knew he needed to change the subject before things got even uglier. “Things seem to be going well with you and Andrea.”

  “Yeah, man, I’m just tryin’ to hold on. She’s got a nice booty, too, you know…even if she doesn’t have much in the way of tits.” He jabbed David’s arm. “That’s another thing about those Dominican chicks. Not only do they have nice, round asses, but I don’t think there’s a country in the world where so many women have big tits. And natural ones, not inflated with those implants to the point that they look fake, like two grapefruits stuck to their chest.”