Familiar Stranger

by Dara Girard

  Vance sighed frustrated, returned the ring and continued looking at others. "I'm not sure yet."

  Greta lightly rested her hand on his arm. "You'll find the one."

  He glanced down at her hand. "You have nice fingers. Maybe if you try one on."

  Greta snatched her hand back. "No."

  Her reaction amused him. "Why not?"

  She hid her hands behind her back. "Because I don't want to."

  "I thought we were friends."

  "My answer's still no."

  A teasing glint of humor lit his eyes. "Come on, Tera," he urged in a low, coaxing voice. "It would be good practice for both of us. One day, a guy is going to slide a ring on your finger. Don't you want to know how it feels?"

  "I don't need to practice. When he does, I want him to be the only one."

  "You're a romantic," he said with feigned disappointment.

  "No, I'm not. It's just bad luck."

  "Says who?"

  Greta threw up her hand in exasperation. "Somebody. Somewhere. This is a momentous act that should only be between you and Sylvie."

  "Yes, I was right." Vance tweaked her chin. "You're a romantic." He turned to the glass case and pointed to another ring. "I would like to look at those?" The jeweler opened the back of the display and removed a tray of rings. He placed the tray on the counter.

  "I'm not a romantic."

  He didn't look at her. "You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth."

  She narrowed her gaze. "Okay, you want to pretend?" She wrapped her hands around his arm and cuddled up close to him like an excited teenager with a new boyfriend.

  He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

  "Pretending to be Sylvie." She reached up and playfully kissed him on the cheek. "Oh Van this is such a wonderful surprise," she said imitating a thick Southern accent to match Cordell's. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long. Aren't these rings so pretty? I really like that big one over there."

  The corner of Vance’s mouth quirked with humor. "She wouldn't act like that."

  "Oh, sorry, I'll add more sophistication." Greta deepened her tone, lifted her chin and loosened her grip on his arm. "Oh darling aren't those exquisite?" She pointed to another ring set.

  Vance shook his head. "She never calls me ‘darling’."

  "Never?"

  "Nope."

  "Honey?"

  He shook his head.

  Greta casually looped her arm through his, then gestured to different selection. "Okay, Bartie, how about this one?"

  "Bartie?"

  "Yes, short for Bartholdi, the fountain you love and have on your wall. That's what I'd call you, if you were mine." She pushed up her glasses, embarrassment making her cheeks hot. "But you're not," she quickly added, letting her hands fall to her sides. "So it doesn't matter. See, I told you I wasn't romantic. I'm sure Sylvie calls you something better than that."

  Vance stared at her for a long moment, his eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn't read, then he abruptly turned. "Let's get out of here."

  "But you haven't selected anything," Greta said hurrying to keep up with him.

  "I will later," he replied in a curt tone.

  She shrugged. "Fine. But did my little charade help you at least a little?"

  He opened the car and got in the driver's seat.

  Greta got into the passenger seat and looked at him with unease, her stomach in knots. "You're angry. Okay, what did I do wrong? I wasn't trying to make fun of Sylvie. I'm sure she's wonderful."

  Vance started the ignition. "I'm not angry."

  Greta turned it off. "Yes, you are. Vance, please. We can't be friends if you're not honest with me."

  He stared out the window. "I'm angry at myself. Not you." He turned to her. "I thought getting the ring would be easier and I feel like I've failed. I'm just tired."

  Greta visibly relaxed. "I understand. Don't be too hard on yourself. It's a big step and I know you want it to be perfect. But I bet that any ring you get Sylvie will be perfect because she'll be marrying you. And that's all that matters."

  Vance groaned, then pulled out of the parking lot.

  "What's the groan for?"

  His smile was boyishly affectionate. "You're so sweet."

  Greta shook her head. "First you called me a ‘romantic’ and now I'm ‘sweet’. You don't know me at all."

  "Yes, I do." He nudged her with his elbow. "Better than you think."

  That was what scared her. Greta knew he was right. And she felt as if she knew him too, on a deep level. She'd hit a nerve in the jewelry store, she just didn't know what. She'd seen a little bit of wistfulness and sadness, but she couldn't figure out why. She would be more careful with her teasing, his friendship meant a lot to her. It wasn't his fault she had stronger feelings for him than he did for her. "Well, take your time. Don't let this be too much of a pressure, it's unhealthy."

  Vance raised a brow, amused. "Are you worrying about me again?"

  "No, just offering a little advice. I'm sure when I get back from my trip you can tell me all about the perfect ring you found for her."

  Vance turned sharply to her. "Where are you going?"

  "I have to travel for work. Rhode Island."

  "How long?"

  "Two weeks."

  He nodded, as if carefully processing the information. "When you get back, call me. I'd like you to meet Sylvie."

  Chapter Seven

  Vance drove home, gripping the steering wheel tighter than he needed to and with his AC on full blast. He needed to cool down. He looked at the jacket on the passenger seat Greta had accidentally left it in his car. He then glanced at the souvenir she had given him. He'd hung it on his rearview mirror. She was back in his life and it felt good--too damn good. His mood dipped as he thought about Cordell's visit and shopping for rings. He didn't know why he couldn't just settle on one. He knew Sylvie would like whatever he picked out for her.

  A smiled touched his mouth as he remembered Greta asking the jeweler to get them the rings they wanted to look at. She didn't care about the surprised glances sent her way, she carried herself as if she were the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. During their picnic at the fountain he'd been fascinated about her work as Senior Physicist at the Environmental Protection Agency and knew she'd worked hard to get there. She was genuine and real. Yes, it had been light and easy fun until she'd pretended to be Sylvie, and given him a nickname.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She was going to Rhode Island for two weeks and he missed her already. Maybe that was how it was with a new friendship. He hit the steering wheel and swore. Who the hell was he fooling, he liked her. A lot more than he should. Twice, at the fountain, he'd wanted to touch her cheek when the wind blew her hair into her face. He liked the smell of her lotion and felt himself respond when she brushed against him, in the jewelry store, and wrapped her fingers around his arm, pretending to be his girlfriend.

  Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? Why did he feel this way? He'd finally gotten his life exactly the way he wanted. He worked for a booming business, had important clients, good friends, a sexy girlfriend and the car he'd always dreamed he would have and yet... And yet he felt restless, as if something was missing. But what could be missing? He'd worked hard to bury the boy he’d been to become the man he was. The boy Greta remembered. God what was wrong with him? Why had he been so happy to see her again? Why had her nickname touched him deep to the core? Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

  Vance turned up the radio and rolled down his window.

  It was no big deal. He just admired her. He admired her courage and spirit. He liked that she hadn't made fun of his love of fountains and had bought him a plant for his office. He even liked how she handled her mother. It amazed him that no matter how coarse or cutting her mother was, she deflected whatever she said with a nonchalance that amazed him. She'd done the same in school. She'd responded to taunts as if they were as important as gnats. It had amazed him that
words that would have infuriated him didn't bother her.

  That was it. He had a new friend he admired. He had a terrific girlfriend, and a great life. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it.

  When he got home Vance found Sylvie painting her toe nails in the living room. He bent down and kissed her.

  "You're late. Long day?"

  "No, a friend took me to see this amazing fountain. I'd like to take you there this weekend."

  "Where?"

  "It’s The McMillian Fountain."

  "Where is it?"

  "In the Bloomingdale neighborhood."

  "Oh, no. Are we back to that again?" She shook her head and chuckled. "I'd thought you'd gotten over your fountain craze. I remember you used to talk about all the fountains you'd love to visit, and how you plan to have one in our house one day."

  Vance’s good mood faded. "It's not a craze. Fountains are just things I find beautiful."

  Sylvie fluttered her eyes at him. "So I'm not beautiful enough?"

  He forced a smile. "Yes, I just...never mind."

  She wiggled her toes. "Do you like this color? I think it's too light. I think I'll have to start over."

  "It's fine."

  "Or maybe I'll just go and get a professional pedicure." She put the nail polish aside.

  "Sylvie, please let me take you there," he said. He desperately wanted to feel the same way he did with Greta, with her. He lightly touched her cheek. "You'll like it. We can have a picnic."

  She kissed him on the cheek then stood. "If you really want to take me out, you need to think of some place more romantic." She slipped into a pair of pink flip-flops, turned and left.

  ***

  He was getting married. She had to remember that. She was just his friend. That's all he saw. Greta put her clarinet away and sighed. She'd called him Bartie. She must have sounded like an idiot. She clicked her clarinet case closed. The rehearsal had gone well tonight, but she hadn't been as focused as she usually was. Going to Rhode Island was a blessing. She needed space from him. She'd proven her grandmother right, and made herself miserable.

  "So what's his name?"

  Greta turned to Joan Anderson, an older woman with honeyed skin, slick red hair and cat glasses who played first clarinet. "I'm sorry?"

  "You were distracted tonight. I doubt it's work so it must be a man."

  "We're just friends. I met him at my class reunion." Sort of.

  "What does he do?"

  "He's a contractor."

  Joan laughed. "No, really, what does he do?"

  "I just told you."

  "He's a contractor?"

  "Yes, he's very successful."

  "I didn't expect that for you. I thought you'd find someone who would be more your intellectual equal. I know it's hard to find many black American men of our caliber, and that's why I don't limit my scope."

  "I'm not limiting anything. I really like him and he's smart. Besides, as I said, we're just friends. He's engaged."

  Her friend began to smile. "He's cute, isn't he?"

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because that would explain why you’d be with someone less educated than you. We'll see if it lasts. Have your fun, but I guarantee you'll get bored."

  Greta held up her hand. "Let me say this slowly: We. Are. Just. Friends."

  "But you really like him. Have you told him?"

  "I'm sorry, did you or did you not hear me tell you he's engaged."

  "How long?" Joan asked.

  "He's going to ask her soon. We went ring shop--"

  "He took you shopping for rings?"

  "Because I'm his friend. It's what friends do."

  "Or maybe he's just clueless."

  "You're being a snob."

  "Says the woman who gets her love advice from her grandmother."

  "She's a good judge of character." Greta knew that Joan didn't know anything about her background and she had only briefly mentioned Minnie telling her to go to the reunion, she kept that information to herself. She didn't want anyone privy to the drama of her life. At work she could be somebody else. She could pretend she went on family vacations to Vermont every spring, and took trips to the beach in the summer. She'd started pretending in college, never revealing what her family was really like. Her parents had divorced, her mother struggled as a single mother and, that was all she would share. She liked to listen to others tell about their extended family, three cars, charge cards and weekend trips to their cabins, lives that all seemed so foreign to her.

  "Would he come to something like this?" Joan said, referring to one of their performances.

  Probably not. "I don't need him too." She closed her case and stood. "Excuse me."

  Joan was a good wake up call, Greta thought as she left. She and Vance did create an odd pair. It could never be something more than a simple friendship, he knew it and she did too. She would come back from Rhode Island, see the engagement ring on Sylvie's finger and realize that she had to accept that her life would never be that.

  Greta was walking to her car when her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

  "I want to stop by and give you back your jacket."

  She'd totally forgotten about it. She could tell him to keep it until after her trip. She shouldn't see him again, but instead of listening to her rational mind, her heart took over. "Okay. I'll be home in about an hour. See you then." She disconnected then ran to her car, knowing she only needed twenty minutes to get home, but she wanted to be prepared. Just one more day then she'd fall back down to earth.

  ***

  Vance stood outside Greta's door and took a deep breath before he knocked. He should have waited until after her trip, but he'd wanted to see her before she left and he had to get rid of her jacket. He'd placed it in the trunk, but it didn't stop him from thinking about her. This was the only way to create the distance he needed.

  She opened the door with a bright smile. "Hi, come in."

  He stepped inside, knowing he should have just given her the jacket and left.

  "Would you like anything to drink?"

  "Juice would be fine."

  Greta took the jacket from him and hung it up in the closet. "Just sit down and I'll be right back," she said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  Vance sat down and saw that her clarinet was out and a music book open. "You were practicing?" he asked, when she handed him his drink.

  "Yes. I wasn't my best at rehearsal tonight."

  He stood and walked over to her music stand. "It's a beautiful instrument."

  Greta picked it up so he could have a closer look. "Thank you." She ran her fingers lightly over it. "I really saved up for it. Most of my life I had to play on plastic ones until I was able to afford wood. The detailing is amazing."

  "I can see that."

  "Go sit down, and I'll play something for you."

  Vance returned to his seat and Greta adjusted the stand and grabbed a chair, then sat down. She flipped through her music book and selected a song. She licked her lips, forcing Vance to focus on her mouth. He watched her as she moistened the tip of the clarinet.

  He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, feeling oddly turned on. "What are you doing?"

  "I have to get the reed wet enough, it gets dry quickly."

  Vance watched her wet the reed and soon all he could think about was her warm, wet tongue wetting him then giving him a good blow just as she was about to do to the clarinet. He jumped up, startling her. "Sorry, I've got to go," he said looking at his watch instead of her shocked expression. "I just remembered something."

  "Okay," Greta said, quickly recovering from his abrupt change. She followed him to the door. "I'll play for you another time then."

  No, he'd never let that happen. Vance opened the door and raced to his car. "Have a safe trip," he called over his shoulder, knowing the situation was too dangerous to look back.

  ***

  Somehow she'd failed again. Greta closed her front door and returned her clarinet to its
case. What had happened? At first he’d sounded eager to have her play, then the next moment he was running out of her house. Maybe he was afraid she was going to play a classical piece he couldn't recognize and be bored to death. Perhaps Joan was right. She should try to get a man who would appreciate music. Someone she could play for and who would attend her orchestra performances.

  Maybe Vance really had to do something else he'd forgotten about. Greta wanted to believe him, but she didn't. She put her clarinet case and music stand aside. All the signs were there. He had another life that didn't involve her. She would go to Rhode Island and let her foolish feelings run their course and then be sensible again.

  She heard a car door slam then giggling. Greta looked out the window and saw her mother and Terrell making out against his car. In seconds they would look indecent; she knew her mother was brazen enough to make love to a man on the hood of his car. Greta grabbed her keys, pointed them in the direction of her car in the driveway and turned the alarm on. They immediately pulled apart.

  "Oh, sorry," Greta said, rushing to her car. She jumped inside and turned the alarm off. She got out of the car and nodded at Terrell, wondering what trouble he was involved with. "Hi."

  He nodded back, but Rita ignored her and gave him one last lingering kiss then drew away. "See you later, baby."

  Terrell slapped her butt then got into his car and drove away.

  Rita walked up to the house. "You're home early."

  "No, you're just late."

  Once inside, Rita set her purse on the coffee table and sat in front of the TV then sniffed the air. She turned to Greta. "You had a man here, didn't you?"

  She froze. "What?"

  Rita grinned, then sniffed the air some more. "I can always tell a man's cologne. And this man smells good."

  "It was just someone returning my jacket."

  "See, you should have been putting a jacket on him and getting yourself some."

  Greta sighed. "Condoms and sex. Your level of interests astounds me."

  "Don't be getting into a mood because you're sad and lonely."

  "I'm not lonely," Greta said going to her room. But she was sad.

  ***

  A week later, Vance returned to the office, after a hectic day submitting bids on three different lucrative projects. He sank in his chair and opened the drawer where Sylvie's ring sat. He picked up the small jewelry box and opened it. He was pleased with his purchase; a ring, with a thin band made of white gold, with diamonds surrounding a brilliant emerald stone. Greta would like the colors. He smiled at the thought of showing her. But the ring wasn't for her. Vance snapped the box closed and shoved it back in the drawer.