Overseas

by Beatriz Williams

  “I’ll just fetch you a cup.” He shot me a reproving look.

  I folded my arms. “Coffee mugs are in the cabinet to the right of the sink,” I called to him, as he disappeared around the corner of the kitchen area.

  Mom looked at me with wide eyes. Wow, she mouthed.

  “Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.

  The doorbell rang. Joey. I went to the door and opened it.

  “Here you go, Kate.” He smirked. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine, Joey. Just fine. Thanks.”

  I took the suitcase from him. Mom had finally entered the modern age and bought a black wheelie bag to replace her old hard-sided Samsonite, circa 1962. Like everyone else, she had fastened a rainbow-striped cord around the middle so she could tell it apart on the carousel. I dragged it into the living room, where Julian was presenting my mom with a mug of coffee.

  “It was a bit lukewarm,” he explained, “so I put it in the microwave. Is it too hot?”

  “Oh, just fine. Just… just fine.” She looked between the two of us, back and forth. “So. Were you two kids having a good time?”

  I glared at her full force before replying. “Great. We were at a charity thing in midtown. Julian gave me a ride home.”

  “And really,” he said, checking his watch, “I ought to be going. I daresay you and your mother wouldn’t mind a little sleep.”

  Mom drew a deep breath. “Don’t let me chase you away, Julian, if you were planning to stay over. I always bed down here, right on the good old sofa sleeper.” She patted it for emphasis. “It’s very comfortable.”

  Kill me now.

  “You’re too kind, Mrs. Wilson,” Julian said, only a slight waver in his voice. “But I really must be going. I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. Still, I’m delighted to have met you.” He smiled at me. “You’ve raised an extraordinary daughter.”

  “Really, you don’t need to go,” she insisted.

  “Mom,” I said. “He wants to go. I want him to go. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh.” She looked back and forth between us again. “Well, then. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Laurence. I’m glad my little girl has someone to look out for her.”

  He opened his mouth to make some no doubt sensationally witty reply, but I cut him off with a brisk “I’ll walk you to the elevator, Julian.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly, and winked at my mother.

  She winked right back.

  I took Julian by the arm and dragged him to the door. “And no peeking,” I threw over my shoulder, as I hauled him out.

  The elevator was just around the corner. I pressed the button and turned around to look at him, folding my arms over my chest.

  He smiled and reached out and drew me up against him. “Do you really want me to go?” he murmured in my ear.

  “At this exact moment, yes,” I said, pushing aside the swirling mist that seemed to addle my brain whenever he touched me.

  A low little chuckle. “When can I see you again?”

  “Call my assistant. She keeps my diary.”

  “Kate.” He chuckled again. “I’ll surprise you, then.”

  The elevator clanged nearer, and I unfolded my arms and wrapped them around his waist. “I can’t wait.”

  The bell dinged. I drew back and looked up to find him watching me intently. He leaned down and brushed my lips with his own. “Neither can I,” he said, and stepped into the elevator just as the doors began to close.

  “OKAY, MOM.” I slammed the door behind me. “That was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my entire life. Forget the day I wet my pants in first grade. Forget the time I screwed up my solo at the jazz choir concert. I mean, Oh. My. God. Why did you say that?”

  “Say what?” She had risen from the sofa and was now busy cleaning up the rest of the kitchen with her usual air of impeccable moral advantage.

  “Oh, you know. Don’t let me chase you away, Julian, if you wanted to stay over,” I said, in falsetto. “I mean, we haven’t even had a real date yet. We haven’t even…”

  She looked up. “Haven’t even what, honey?”

  “Kissed,” I mumbled.

  “Didn’t he kiss you good night just now?”

  I glared at her. “I thought I told you not to peek.”

  “Oh, honey,” she laughed, “I didn’t need to peek to know that!”

  “Well,” I said, “it wasn’t a real kiss. So just take that smirk off your face. I mean, for God’s sake, you’re my mother! You’re not supposed to sanction sex! Under the same roof! I mean, eww! This room shares a wall with mine!”

  “Well, in my home, I wouldn’t. If you bring him for a visit, he’ll have his own room. But this is your place, honey. You can do what you like.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I would probably put a pillow over my head,” she admitted, giving the counter a last swipe with the sponge and wringing it out over the sink. “But he’s awfully good-looking, you know.”

  “Yes, Mom. I know.”

  “And he seemed quite taken with you.”

  “Well, I guess I hope so.” I dropped onto the sofa and looked up at her. She had left the kitchen area and was wheeling her suitcase from the center of the room to the wall. “He’s kind of an amazing guy, Mom.”

  “He looks it, honey.” She paused. “He’s the man from the park, right?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “My goodness,” she said, sitting down next to me. “How did you meet him?”

  “Business meeting.”

  “I guess that’s how these things work, these days.” She straightened her watch, aligning it exactly with the base of her hand. “So is he really… what Mary Alice said?”

  “Pretty much.” I stared at the plain white envelope on the coffee table.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “What do you mean, how do I feel?” I snapped. “I’ve met a lot of rich guys in the past few years. What’s the big deal?”

  She said nothing. A patient woman, my mother.

  I gave in. “All right. Sorry. I know what you meant. Yes, okay, it’s weird. But he’s not like most of them. He’s not flashy. The money’s just a fact to him, not—I don’t know—some essential part of his ego. Kind of refreshing.”

  “He has one of those hedge funds, doesn’t he?” Almost like she knew what a hedge fund was.

  “Yeah. A big one. But six years ago it was nothing. He did it all himself.”

  “He comes from money, though.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “He hasn’t told me much about that. But yeah, I think so. How did you know?”

  “Oh, honey. You can just tell.” She chuckled suddenly.

  “What is it?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you this. You’ll kill me.”

  “What?”

  “Well, he kind of reminds me of my father, a little.”

  “Poppa! Oh, Mom! How could you say that? Poppa?”

  She laughed. “I knew you’d kill me. But it’s true. It’s his manners, you know. He’s very formal. Old-fashioned, I guess. He’s been well brought up. Does he open the door for you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, there you are. Keep him.”

  Like it was that easy. “All right, Mom.” I patted her knee. “Let’s get up and put this bed together. How long are you staying, by the way?”

  “I’ve got a flight back on Sunday morning. It was much cheaper with the Saturday night layover.”

  We pulled the sleeper out and made up the bed, and then took turns in the bathroom. “I’ll leave a note for Brooke on the door, so she doesn’t wake you up,” I said.

  “That roommate of yours.” She shook her head.

  “I know, I know. Good night.” I kissed her on the cheek.

  “Good night, honey.”

  I wrote the note and taped it on the door and got into bed, where I lay awake for a long time, listening to my heart trip restlessly against my rib
s, telling myself it was just the coffee.

  FRANK, THE MORNING DOORMAN, met me right off the elevator at six-thirty the next day. “You have a visitor,” he told me, grinning widely and waggling his eyebrows. “I was about to call up.”

  My heart jumped into my sinuses. I peered past the front desk into the lobby.

  Julian stood there, impossibly radiant, a white paper bag in one hand. I skipped up. “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning.” He dropped a glancing kiss on my lips and took my laptop from my shoulder. “I thought I’d drive you to work today.”

  “But I’m not on your way,” I pointed out.

  “If you were, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  He led me outside, where a sleek dark-green machine perched eagerly by the curb, and opened the passenger door for me. I ducked in and settled myself into the leather, into the cocoon of dials and lights and dormant energy.

  The door opened on the other side, and Julian climbed in and threw the engine in gear. “Nice car,” I said, grabbing hold of my seat as we thrust forward.

  “A recent acquisition. I was rather afraid you might disapprove.”

  “It beats the 6 train. What’s in the bag?”

  “Bagels. That doesn’t violate the rules, does it?”

  “Depends on where you got the bagels.” I opened the bag. At least half a dozen shiny plump bagels rested inside, still warm, the yeasty smell rising like heaven into my nose.

  “I wasn’t sure which flavor you liked,” he explained, “so I got them all.”

  I picked out a blueberry and bit in. “Lovely. Which one would you like?”

  “Oh, the blueberry, I suppose.”

  “Too late. Cinnamon raisin?” I handed it to him.

  We rode in silence for a few minutes, pecking at our bagels. He was a quiet driver, working his way through the crawling grid with a minimum of turns and lane changes, anticipating the traffic around him. In a few minutes we were accelerating smoothly onto the FDR, and I tilted my head at last to take him in, to admire his crisp handsome profile etched against the morning sun.

  “So how did you sleep?” I asked.

  “Dreadfully. I missed you. And you?”

  “Pretty well, actually. Very nice dreams.”

  He glanced sideways at me and smiled. “What about?”

  “Sorry. That’s between me and my subconscious.” I paused. “How did you know I was leaving for work early today?”

  “Oh, I didn’t.” He checked the mirror and eased into the far left lane. “I was going to have Joey ring you up.”

  “Frank,” I corrected him. “Joey’s the evening doorman. What if I’d been in bed?”

  “I’d have rousted you out, of course. I’m usually in before seven, myself.”

  I looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Then I’m making you late.”

  “Geoff can hold down the fort for once.”

  “When I think of all the trades you’ll be missing…”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. The markets will survive without me. I, however, cannot possibly survive without you.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  He glanced at me. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I just can’t quite believe this is happening.”

  “This?”

  “You. Me. This. I’ve never felt this way. As though I know you perfectly, but not at all. And then you say ridiculous things like that, when we haven’t even…”

  “Haven’t what?”

  “You know.” I felt the blush climb relentlessly in my cheeks. “Even kissed.”

  A chuckle. “Well, and whose bloody fault is that? Coffee breath, for God’s sake. Little minx. Anyway, I did kiss you last night. And this morning.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  He fell silent for a few seconds, and then the car swerved across three lines of traffic into the exit lane and slammed to a halt. “What are you doing?” I yelled, gripping my seat. SUVs and delivery trucks zoomed past us, horns howling in outrage.

  “Kissing you,” he replied, and he took my face in his large long-fingered hands and bent his lips into mine.

  Oh God finally a gentle clasp, warm and lush and generous, cinnamon-raisin and something else, something so indescribably savory oh God I wanted more of it, but he held it all in check, the most exquisite self-control: not at all like a first kiss, nothing awkward, perfectly knowing, the tip of his velvet tongue just grazing mine oh God the sensation snaking through me like a live current. His hands held my head tenderly in place, his fingertips worked through the fine hair at my temples. An odd sensation began to build behind my eyes and through my torso, as if I were lighter than air, tethered to myself only by the hold of Julian’s hands and lips. I slipped my fingers under his suit jacket, clutching at the reality of his flesh through the thin layers of shirt and undershirt. “Kate,” he growled into my lips, shifting his body urgently, and I wrapped my other arm around him, nearly climbing out of my seat with a desperate need to connect with him.

  He stopped then, breathing hard against the thin skin of my collarbone, his hands still clasping my cheeks, the scent of his hair warm in my nose.

  “Wow,” I said. I could hear my own pulse, rapid and shocked. “Practice much?”

  He raised his head and looked at me, his face only inches away. “Not at all.”

  “Then you must have really good instincts,” I said, running my thumb along the curve of his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss against it.

  The blare of a tractor-trailer horn tore violently through the charged air around us. “Oh my God,” I screeched. “We’re going to get killed!”

  He drew away with a laugh and a last caress to the side of my face. “You asked for a kiss.”

  “I didn’t mean at that exact second!” I twisted around to see a wave of vehicles bearing down on us.

  “I don’t know.” His hand went down to the gearshift. “I thought it was worth it.” With a quick glance in the rearview mirror he released the clutch, sending us hurtling down the shoulder and merging back into traffic as if nothing at all had happened, as if the promising theory between us had not just been transformed into solid fact, as if we were not now different people from the ones who had climbed into the car half an hour ago.

  We got off at the Brooklyn Bridge exit and wove through the narrow half-clogged canyons to Wall Street, pulling up in front of the Sterling Bates building with a theatrical roar of the engine. “So what kind of car is this?” I asked.

  “Maserati,” he said, grinning.

  “And I just finished telling my mom you aren’t flashy.”

  A wink. “A chap’s got a right to a little fun once in a while, after all.” He got out of the car and went around to my side, opening my door while I was still gathering up my things. I started to haul myself upward and found his hand under my elbow.

  “Thanks,” I said shyly, rearranging myself.

  “Of course.” He just stood there, studying me. His grin had dimmed into something more wistful than happy.

  I realized I was staring at his mouth and cleared my throat. “You know,” I said, fingering the strap of my laptop bag, “we haven’t gone on a real date yet, either.”

  “Pick you up at eight, then?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “My mom doesn’t leave until Sunday morning.”

  “Then she can join us.”

  I snorted. “Julian, honestly, I don’t think even Dante could have imagined anything worse than that idea. Try again.”

  “Sunday afternoon?”

  “Um, sorry. Ballet class.” I ducked my head, adding sheepishly, “I can’t miss another one or they’ll kick me out.”

  “Ballet? I’d no idea. When does it wrap up?”

  “Half past six.”

  “I’ll pick you up.” His smile widened then, and he reached over to tuck back a strand of hair that had fallen free from my elastic. “Have a good day,
darling.”

  I took my laptop bag from him. “You too,” I said, and hurried across the Sterling Bates plaza before he could tempt me into some embarrassing public display. From behind, I heard the distant thoroughbred roar of the Maserati, chasing me into the building.

  • • •

  JULIAN’S KISS BURNED like a neon sign on my lips as I made my way through security and up the elevator to my floor. The financial world is a perfectly evolved mechanism for the rapid transmission of information, and nothing on Wall Street travels faster than salacious gossip; by now just about everyone in the firm, if not the whole freaking city, would know I’d left the MoMA benefit last night in the company of Julian Laurence.

  Distracted by a jumble of self-conscious reflections, I’d reached the relative sanctuary of my cubicle and flipped open my laptop before I realized I hadn’t even picked up my morning coffee.

  Mercifully, the Starbucks line hadn’t yet approached its morning zenith. In under six minutes I was swinging back around the corner of my desk, nerves still crackling, and nearly plopped myself into the middle of Alicia Boxer’s lap.

  “Alicia!” I exclaimed.

  She jumped up from my chair. “Oh, Kate! Sorry. I was just looking for a file.”

  My voice turned to ice. “I keep everything on the server.”

  “I know.” She smiled apologetically. “I couldn’t find it, though, so I thought I’d just check your hard drive.”

  I looked at my laptop screen. “What file are you talking about?”

  “The offering memo for that convertible deal we’re working on.”

  “It’s on the server. Under Clients.”

  “Oh, Clients,” she said, as though it were a revelation. She looked haggard, with bags under her eyes the size and color of prunes, and her hair lying lank below her ears. Considering how wasted she’d been the night before, though, I was amazed just to see her at this hour. “I thought you’d keep it in your personal folder until it was done.”

  “I finished it yesterday, before I left.”

  “Wow! You’re efficient. How did things go last night, by the way? I heard you left with Julian Laurence. I didn’t even see him there.”

  “We kind of bumped into each other outside.”

  “Very sly! I like it. Nice Page Six mention, by the way. Popped your cherry, huh? Now you’re really someone in this town.”