The Secrets She Keeps

by Jolie Moore

  The red wine I ordered as I got comfortable at the bar was an attempt to look modest and demure while the soju went straight to my head, making me less of each of those things.

  I relaxed my face. I tried to make it stern and serious during work, now replacing it with a smile, and soon a man approached me. I was tempted to look at my watch and see how many minutes I’d been there for comparison’s sake, but I resisted. Especially since the hand lifting the watch was none too steady at the moment.

  “Tim,” he said. I shook his outstretched hand. Grip firm. So far, so good.

  Since I wasn’t marrying him, I sized up Tim for what I needed—a night of wall-banging sex. He topped out at an even six feet probably. If I stood, he’d be about eye to eye with me in my wedge sandals. That could work.

  “Nari.” I introduced myself. “Where are you from?” I asked. Native Californians were more rare than diamonds.

  “Texas,” he said. “Out here trying to get into the business, you know.”

  Yes, I knew. Of course I knew. Every other person who’d come out here was trying to get into entertainment. It was stiffer competition than medical school.

  “You?” he said.

  “I work at a doctor’s office.” I was careful not to lie. I didn’t dumb myself down to get laid, exactly. But doctor wasn’t sexy to anyone. Paper pushing, insurance processing back office girl was bland enough that everyone glossed over it like I wanted.

  “Where are you from?” Tim asked. Could I take that drawl in the middle of sex? Would he call out “howdy” when he came? I tried not to let my eyes stray around the bar. Eliminating prospects one at a time was the best method. I’d learned that from experience. Sometimes I was amazed at the number of things twenty years of schooling glossed over.

  “Riverside,” I said. If he hadn’t been here too long, he wouldn’t think too poorly of my unglamorous Inland Empire roots.

  “No, really,” he said. “Where are you from?” I stopped twirling my wine glass in my hand and sat it on the cocktail napkin on the bar. Strike one. Tim was out. It was too early and I wasn’t desperate enough to give him two more chances.

  “Fort Lee, New Jersey.” My voice was flat. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said like I’d seen someone I was meeting. Tim wandered off back to a group of guys in the corner. I turned my back to the room, ordered another glass of wine. After drinking about half, I turned again, making another survey of the bar area.

  I nearly toppled my wine when I saw a lean guy with dirty blond hair sidle up to the bar. The resemblance to Andrew couldn’t be overlooked. When he looked down the bar, I raised my hand in salute. Craft beer in hand, he approached. One point for a halfway decent drink choice.

  “Nari,” I said.

  “Perry,” he shook his head ruefully, laughing. A cowlick popped up in the front of his head. “Forrest.”

  Resisting the urge to smooth back the bump of hair, I laughed along with him. “Is it Perry Forrest or Forrest Perry?”

  “First name’s Forrest,” he said.

  “That’s a lot of ‘Rs.’”

  “Sure is. My parents were pirates.”

  The joke was all kinds of preschool silly, but after five drinks I couldn’t stop laughing for a good two minutes. Forrest of the four “Rs” didn’t even blink an eye at my high-pitched snort. Another point for the Andrew doppelganger.

  With a wave of my hand, I gestured for him to sit on the empty bar stool next to me. He took the invitation. “You here alone tonight?” I asked.

  “I’m supposed to meet my friend Jason. He’s running late. Should I cancel on him?”

  Forthright, I really liked that. Another point. He was up to three. Five and I’d take him home. I nodded. Signaling the hostess, I said, “Join me for dinner.”

  Forrest Perry of the four Rs looked like he’d won the lottery. I held out my hand and he did the right thing, helping me down from the stool, keeping his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to the intimate table for two at the edge of the bar the hostess had indicated. I held out my hand again. He took it, lifted me back on another stool. Another point for chivalry. Warm tingles went up my spine. This Andrew look-alike was doing mighty fine.

  “Want to split antipasti?” he said, glancing at the menu.

  “That would be perfect,” I said. The waitress took our orders for meatballs, calamari, burrata and another glass of wine for me.

  When the server walked away, I had to satisfy my curiosity. Find out how big a cradle I’d be robbing. “How old are you?”

  Forrest looked down, pink rising in his cheeks. Ah, a young one. “Twenty-four,” he said.

  A seven-year age difference wasn’t so bad. He’d have stamina, if not skill, that’s for sure. Plus, after an hour, give or take, I realized he was funny, and kind of sweet. He’d earned the full five points two times over. I leaned forward, ready to make the offer of a single night he’d never forget, when a big hand landed on my shoulder.

  “Dr. Yoon, fancy meeting you here.”

  I turned, seeking the source of the deep voice. Lucas was standing right behind me, three other guys in tow. If they were filming an ad for cargo shorts, there would be no need to go outside the bar for casting. I hadn’t seen so many variants on khaki and bulging pockets since I’d left New England.

  “You’re a doctor?” Forrest went from confident to intimidated very fast. Damn, he was losing points by the second. I didn’t want this one to slip through my fingers. I didn’t have the time nor sobriety to search for another prospect.

  “This is my colleague, Dr. Lucas Tucker. I’m sure he and his friends will be getting dinner in the restaurant very soon.” Far, far away from me and Forrest, I wanted to add.

  Thank God Lucas got the hint and stopped the round robin introductions in their tracks. He and his little entourage made their exit from the bar area, crossing over to a noisy and crowded area full of rough-hewn tables and well heeled patrons. Time to get my own show on the road.

  “So,” I leaned forward. I didn’t have much in the way of cleavage, but the low cut maxi dress put all I had on full display. “What do you think of—”

  “Do you have a moment, Dr. Yoon?” Lucas? Again? He was like a bad penny. I turned around and sure enough, there was my giant blond colleague. The inside flap of my childhood book of Norse mythology, that’s what he reminded me of. Momentarily distracted from my profound annoyance, I wondered where the curly hair had come from. They didn’t have a lot of curls in Scandinavia, did they? Maybe one day I’d ask. Out of purely scientific genetic interest, of course.

  “What do you need, Dr. Tucker?”

  “It’s a bit of a clinic emergency,” he said. “It’ll only take a moment. Then you and—”

  “Forrest,” the kid supplied on cue.

  “Forrest can get back to…whatever.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Let’s step outside.”

  Lucas steered me through the thickening happy hour crowd toward Melrose Avenue. Late model cars as shiny as the day they came off the assembly line streamed by.

  “What are you doing in there?” Lucas asked.

  “Excuse me,” I tried to fill my voice with as much incredulity as I could after six drinks.

  “I asked—”

  “I heard you. Since your name is not on my birth certificate, I’m wondering exactly how it’s any business of yours.”

  “First it was that guy, Colin in Kauai, and now it’s this guy on Melrose.”

  “Is this a safe sex talk? Because as you may remember, I have condoms covered.” I turned toward the traffic paused and idling at a stoplight, and away from whatever emotion had made him wince.

  “You were going to have sex with that guy? He’s what, ten minutes out of high school.”

  “You’re harshing my buzz. Good night, Lucas.” I took a single step towards the bar before I felt a single hand on my upper arm. I turned, ready to face an assault charge.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  �
��Go where?”

  “Home. That’s where you were taking the whippersnapper, right?”

  I laughed then. I could hear that my pitch was slightly askew. And my laugh was an unattractive half-drunken snort of a laugh. I could hear how ridiculous I sounded, but couldn’t stop even with both my hands in front of my mouth. “Whippersnapper? What are you, sixty?”

  “I’m serious,” he said.

  My laughter ceased immediately. Something tingled between my legs “What about Forrest?”

  “Who?”

  “My date?”

  Lucas handed a claim ticket to a valet along with a small fold of bills. “Wait here.”

  For the first two minutes, I wanted nothing more to go back in there and pick up with Forrest where I’d left off. I was violating a lot of hard and fast rules. Some mine, some society’s. I never did the same guy twice. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t do their colleague. What was that stupid saying, don’t shit….

  I couldn’t shake the last part from my alcohol-soaked brain before a lime green Subaru drove up to the street. Of course he’d drive something like that. It was my second guess. My first had been a used Volvo wagon. Both had been popular with cargo pants and Timberland-wearing guys when I’d been in college. I’d met more outdoor enthusiasts in Olde Haven than I’d ever met in L.A. with its picture perfect weather. Ignoring life’s ironies, I watched Lucas emerge from the restaurant door alone.

  He exchanged a folded bill for the keys from the valet and opened the passenger door. I slipped in with as much grace as I could muster.

  Even with all the early evening traffic and stoplights, it took Lucas no less than ten minutes to get to my house. I produced a garage door opener from my purse and the huge iron gate pivoted open. Three minutes and one elevator ride later, we were in my apartment.

  Lucas pocketed his keys and stood in the living area, looking a little helpless. I didn’t know what he was nervous about. I was a sure thing. I was the one who should be nervous. I never did the same guy twice. I hoped he didn’t think this was some kind of prelude to a relationship. I didn’t do boyfriends. Ah, hell, he really had dulled my buzz.

  Needed to fix that first. Leaving him standing and twirling, I pulled the soju from the fridge. Got two glasses from a cabinet. First I poured one for him. I left my own glass empty.

  I wandered into the kitchen and sat on a stool. The untouched drink lingered in front of him.

  “You put two hands around it and drink it in a single shot,” I instructed.

  He did. “Now you pour for me.” He did. I downed it, not ashamed to rub away the alcohol on my lips with the back of my hand.

  “Why were you going to bring that guy here?”

  I rolled my eyes in a way that said ob-vi-ous. But he didn’t rise to that bait. Damn. Here goes, I thought, letting the soju act as a truth serum. “To forget,” I answered truthfully.

  “What are you trying to forget?”

  Now that, I wasn’t going to answer. “Something I don’t want to remember.”

  Chapter 6

  Lucas

  Nari stood up. With two flicks of her wrists, the silky tie-dyed dress pooled on the floor. She stood before me in the skimpiest underwear I’d ever seen, her shoes, and nothing more. My inner fifteen-year-old wanted to stand and clap.

  My thirty-something-year-old self cursed softly, but hopefully under my breath. When I’d intercepted whatever was going on between Nari and the twenty-something guy she’d been breaking bread with, I promised myself, I wouldn’t have sex with her. Not again. Or at least not without dinner, a date, a talk–something.

  When I’d pulled her from the restaurant, and when I’d guided her into the car and entered her garage, and even when I’d rode the elevator up to her apartment, I promised myself each and every step of the way that this wouldn’t happen again. Yet here I was, primed and ready. Unable to control my lizard brain response.

  I had only been trying to save her from making a mistake I was sure she’d regret. Plus, how did she know that guy wasn’t some serial killer, some stranger she was going to invite to her bedroom? Forrest could have stuffed her into a garbage bag and the murder case would have remained unsolved forever.

  But when Nari turned and strutted from the room, I forgot that I was trying to be a savior. Instead, I turned into as big a predator as the other guy. Calling myself all kinds of an asshole, I had no choice but to follow the hard dick in my pants. It was as if the damned thing had a mind of its own.

  By the time I got to the bedroom, a study in white from the walls to the rug to the duvet, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully unstrapping her shoes. First one fell to the rug with a soft thud, then the other. I must have been closer to temptation than I thought, because all Nari had to do was reach out her hand to slide the belt buckle from the loop.

  “Nari, this isn’t why I came here,” I managed to say in protest, making one last-ditch attempt at chivalry. But all bets were off when her hand came to my fly and the noise of my zipper parting filled the room.

  My shorts, heavy with a brass compass, hiking map, keys and wallet fell to the floor with little resistance. Reflexively I stepped from them, damming the hiking boots that made it difficult to disrobe. Her fingers were in my boxers. In an instant, all thoughts of talking or putting her to bed poured from my mind like water from a colander.

  Two hours later with her snoring softly next to me, I called myself ten times a fool. Why was I trying so hard to save someone who didn’t want to be saved?

  My altimeter watch read ten. I was sober and in my colleague’s bed—again. My pants did a shimmy on the carpet. A quiet buzzing filled the room. Damn it, my phone. I’d said a hasty good-bye to my hiking buddies. Maybe they wanted to catch up. Careful not to disturb Nari, I rolled from the bed and retrieved my shorts from the floor.

  I pulled on my boxers and walked down the hall to the living room.

  “Hello,” I answered, keeping my voice low.

  My mom’s soft voice greeted me. I patted my bare chest. Somehow I wished I could jump into my clothes as quickly as Superman. At least I had on underwear.

  “Are you on a date?” she asked.

  How should I answer that? Say no, and I was in for a long family chat with the phone passing between my mom and dad. If I said yes, then they’d get their hopes up for marriage and grandchildren. Two drunken hookups didn’t exactly make that a possibility.

  “Lucas? Are you there?”

  “I’m here, Mom.” I sat on the couch, resigned to ninety minutes of Vermont gossip.

  Somewhere between high school politics and university shenanigans, Nari must have entered the room.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I nearly dropped the phone. Nari had come in noiselessly. Her hair was in disarray around her shoulders. Wrapped in a long white silk bathrobe and not much else. My stomach did a little flip flop. Maybe all the talk of high school and college was making me feel like a teenager again, in my pants and in my judgment.

  “Is that a woman at your house, Lucas?” my mother asked.

  “I’m not home.”

  “Oh…oh. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I think you should hang up now, Joyce.” I heard my father in the background. Dad must have taken the phone from my mom because all I heard after that was silence.

  “Your parents?” Nari raised an eyebrow on her way to the kitchen. She pulled open the fridge and pulled out a large Britta pitcher. A glass appeared from the cabinet and she filled it to the brim, surface tension the only thing keeping it from spilling.

  A thin trickle snaked its way down her neck, making the robe partially see-through. I tossed the phone on the table and tried to look anywhere but at her.

  Even without watching her, I could feel her cool and assessing gaze on me.

  “Your mom calls to check up on you?”

  I turned toward her again. There was none of the snark or sarcasm I’d expected with that comment.

>   “She’s up all times of day and night working on dyes. She loved to call me when I was in residency because I was never asleep either. Habit she can’t break, I think.”

  Nari opened the refrigerator again. Poured herself another glass of water, and perched on a kitchen stool. “Did you say dye? Like color?”

  I nodded. “She spins wool into yarn and dyes it for her students. She also does silk.”

  “Is she some kind of art teacher?”

  “Yeah. She loves those kids.”

  “Did you get the art genes?”

  My heart sped up, then slowed down in rapid succession. Why did those kinds of questions still throw me after thirty years? They were innocent enough. No one was pointing a finger at me, singling me out. I did not have a scarlet “A” tattooed on my head that said my parents had picked me up at the airport or church or wherever they’d retrieved me from. She couldn’t know the mother she asked about hadn’t birthed me from her womb. I cued in to Nari’s quizzical gaze and realized I’d probably been quiet far too long.

  “I’m adopted. My genetic makeup is a mystery.” I tried to smile like it was a joke. But neither of us were laughing.

  Nari was quiet for a long time. Her assessing look was back.

  “Go home, Lucas.”

  For a single interminable minute, I wondered if she was rejecting me because my biological parents hadn’t raised me. But that was ridiculous. “What about—”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Lucas.” She stood, paced around the small table, then took up the same seat she’d just vacated. Nari bowed her head. She shook it from left to right, her hair hiding her face. Pulling a band from her wrist, she did that magical girl thing I’d seen my sister do a thousand times. One minute Nari’s hair was on her shoulders, the next it was up in some kind of bun thing. “This is why I never do the same guy twice,” she said.

  The comment was like a slap in the face. I couldn’t help rearing back. “I thought…I hoped.” Truth sputtered out.