Plum Girl (Romance)

by Winters, Jill

  "I got your e-mail"—Yes—"and I didn't get a chance to tell you, but I had to go to New York on Tuesday. I just got back tonight."

  Oh, to hell with pretense... at least, for the moment. "I'm so glad you came," she said honestly.

  They both relaxed and started talking, and pretty soon they were unconsciously inching their bodies closer together. She was touching his arm when he said something funny, and he was lightly placing his hand on her waist when he'd lean in to hear what she was saying. After about twenty minutes of talking by the bar, they moved to sit in a booth. Peach still hadn't arrived, but Lonnie knew the commute from Chestnut Hill could be a time-consuming hassle. Another reason why Peach was her best friend.

  "So, how much longer do you think you'll be at Twit & Bell?" Dominick asked, and leaned back against the booth.

  "Hmm, I guess if I were really ambitious I'd say until I make partner, but realistically? Probably until the summer." He was giving her that sexy grin again, and she needed to take another sip of her Bloody Mary to calm her nerves.

  "What happens then?" he asked. A little too casually, she thought, but she wasn't sure.

  "Well, you know how I was thinking about teaching at a university?"

  He nodded and leaned forward. "Right, well, it was either that or a master's in marine biology. Or, I'm sorry, marine biology theory."

  She squinted her eyes teasingly at him—ha ha, smartie—and finished, "So, I actually sent resumes out a few weeks ago, and I'm hoping I'll hear soon. Most likely I wouldn't be contracted, but I could get a one-or two-year-long position as an instructor."

  "Well, would you stay in Boston?" He stretched back against the booth—a little too casually—again.

  "Um, I don't know." Before she'd said it aloud, Lonnie hadn't actually acknowledged it to herself. She loved Boston, she'd grown up there, and she knew the city inside and out. What would it be like to move away from her parents and her sister and her homey studio apartment? She'd gone away to college for four years, but somehow that was different. In fact, only after Lonnie had graduated and moved back did she realize that college was surreal and in no way resembled life.

  "What would you teach?" He leaned, forward again. "Because, I mean, if it sounds interesting, maybe I could just hire you as my private tutor. Then you wouldn't have to leave."

  His thumb was sliding up and down on his glass, moving on the moist condensation, and she found herself looking at it far too long, getting entranced by its slow, seductive rhythm. For all she knew, the rhythm could have been entirely in her head, but the more her eyes darted back to Dominick's thumb—as it lightly stroked the glass—the more erotic she found it. And distracting. Finally, she forced herself to look back up at his face. She curved her mouth into a skeptical grin and asked, "Why would you need a tutor?"

  Dominick held his hands up in mock self-defense. "Hey, I'm a big fan of continued education." It was the first time she'd really noticed his hands. Strong looking with blunt-tipped fingers. She wondered how they would taste. How they would feel probing inside her and making her shudder. Immediately, an image flashed through her mind of his mouth replacing his fingers and her body coming alive against his tongue.

  She shook off the thought. And she mentally chastised herself for being the most ridiculously horny woman on the planet! When on earth had she become so sexually charged? Well, she knew the answer to that, but still, her preoccupation with sex lately just didn't seem normal.

  "Okay, then," she said, determined to keep the light, easy flow of the conversation. "I could tutor you in feminist social theory, feminist literary theory, and women's studies. Take your pick."

  He paused, then smiled teasingly and said, "Let me get back to you."

  Lonnie took another sip of her drink and pushed it aside. The ice cubes had melted, and all that remained were a few swallows of diluted tomato juice and an errant lime wedge floating near the bottom of the glass.

  "So, you're really a feminist, huh?" Here it came. The part where the guy tried to learn more about her views, but the way he phrased the question made it obvious that the answer "yes" would come loaded with all of his generalizations and preconceptions. Lonnie didn't feel like lecturing him, or silencing herself. But this moment was inevitable if she wanted to get close to someone... to be completely honest about who she was... to find out if he was an ignorant, insensitive clod so she could cut her losses now.

  Wait! What was she thinking? Hadn't she decided she was just going to be friends with Dominick? That was right. Although, now that she thought about it, she didn't particularly want an ignorant, insensitive clod for a friend, either.

  "Hello?" he asked mildly.

  "Oh, hello." With deliberate diplomacy, she answered his question. "Well, I believe that while most people today claim they favor equality of the sexes, they have no idea what that really means because, on the whole, people haven't really revised conventional characterizations of males and females."

  "How can you say that?" Dominick asked, his tone curious, not angry. "More and more, girls are entering science and math fields, there are almost as many female doctors as male, and it's becoming almost the norm for companies to offer comprehensive day-care packages to their female employees."

  She nodded respectfully, but she wasn't surprised by his argument. "True, but have you ever researched how many women in said companies ever rise higher than middle management?"

  "Oh, 'the glass ceiling' thing?" he asked, not sounding wholly believing.

  "Yes, exactly. Look, the term might be passé, but the reality isn't. Do you think mothers who work in companies with day-care packages are going to complain? Do you think they're going to rock the boat?" Before he could answer, she continued, "But it's more than that, Dominick. Life doesn't begin and end in corporate America. I think there's still sexism everywhere, despite how desensitized people are today. Look at the way women are represented in films and television. Look at the difference between men's and women's magazines. All I'm saying is that if you really look, you'll see that there are still very negative stereotypes about women everywhere."

  "So, what, you don't watch movies or TV? You don't read magazines?" He sounded borderline testy, but it didn't surprise her because despite her best attempt not to lecture him, she sort of was.

  "I function in the society we have, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware of some inequities. Economic and social." Lonnie tilted her head and looked right into his eyes, trying to see if he'd lost the openness she was sure he had prior to this conversation. Hell, she might as well know now if he was going to respect her opinions, or just dismiss them immediately.

  After a moment, he nodded, and his tone was relaxed again when he asked, "So, where does that leave you in terms of the opposite sex? I mean, do you, like, hate men?"

  Textbook blockhead assumption, Lonnie thought. But he was such a sexy blockhead, and Lonnie really thought he had promise with these issues. She'd just have to work on him.... Great, now she sounded like Peach.

  "No, why would I? I'm talking about social structure here, not individual people." She paused and added, "Although, I'm not going to lie to you. There are definitely some men I like more than others. A lot more."

  Then a slow smile started to creep over Dominick's face, and Lonnie smiled back. "Okay, enough about me for the moment," she said. "What about you? What's GraphNet doing to try to keep you?"

  He shook his head and replied, "Oh, they don't even know that I'm planning to leave. I think they assume I'm just waiting to become a vice president, but—"

  "What do you mean? You're close to becoming a vice president?" she asked, impressed despite her general apathy toward corporate America and its myriad stratification.

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Well, yeah, but it just doesn't interest me. I want to start my own company so I don't have to 'play the game' anymore. I can just call the shots, and be sort of the elusive, enigmatic puppet master of the whole operation."

  "Ah. Sort of li
ke a Wizard of Oz thing?" Lonnie asked. "Interesting."

  Then a small silence fell. It was only a few moments long, but it was enough for a perceptible current of tension to run between them. Suddenly the air was thick and stifling. And smothering, in a foggy way that seemed to call for getting naked. What were Lonnie's intentions toward Dominick again? Her mind was a little fuzzy on that at the moment. She was too busy imagining herself in the movie Flashdance, kicking off her heel and running her stockinged foot between his legs. He shifted in his seat, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Of course he couldn't, but she fantasized for a second that he did.

  Dominick moved his empty glass to the side of the table for the waitress to take. "Do you want another drink?"

  Lonnie shook her head. "No. I'm all set, thanks."

  He nodded, and the silence fell again.

  After a few moments, Lonnie asked him if he'd done any interesting touristy things while he was in New York. As soon as the question came out of her mouth, she felt a pang of guilt. New York reminded her of Terry... which reminded her that she was falling for another man. And fast.

  Omigod! She just remembered Terry's impending visit. He was coming to Boston the very next day and she'd completely forgotten! She needed serious help.

  Luckily, Dominick didn't seem to notice her momentary unease. He told her about being forced to go on a carriage ride through Central Park to appease an E-Bizz partner whose brother was in town from North Dakota and had always dreamed of it.

  "I mean, who dreams of that?" Dominick asked, and winced, trying to shake off the memory of the god-awful smell that people never told you about when they were insisting you simply must take a carriage ride through Central Park.

  Lonnie giggled to herself because the way Dominick said things was so funny and he was just so cute. She asked, "So, I take it you're not in agreement with the ninety-nine percent of the human race that's been socially programmed to define all carriage rides as 'romantic'?"

  Dominick shrugged, and said, "I guess it's just not my thing."

  Boldness overtook her. Well, boldness and longing and vodka. She leaned forward, resting her hands in the middle of the table, and asked, "So, smartie, what is your thing?"

  It didn't go unnoticed by Dominick that her voice was heavy with sexual suggestion. And then it happened: he felt Lonnie's fingers grazing the back of his hand. Oh, Christ! She was doing the exact same thing to him that he had done to her at Rattlesnake. Was she messing with him? Trying to make up for what happened? Had she just had too much to drink? Before he could respond to her slow, erotic touch, a girl rushed over to their table.

  "Omigod, Lonnie, I'm so sorry I'm late!" Peach was slightly out of breath, and Lonnie immediately felt guilty. She'd made Peach come to Whiskey's just to mitigate her inevitable terrible time, and then she hadn't even ended up having a terrible time.

  "Hi!" Lonnie pulled her sister's hand so that she fell into the booth next to her. She could tell the exact second when Peach realized the man across the table was Dominick.

  "Dominick, this is my sister, Peach."

  "Right, the artist," he said affably, and reached across the table to shake her hand. "How are you doing? Its nice to meet you." Peach shook his hand and said polite hellos, but Lonnie could tell she was looking for a way to extricate herself from the booth, and give them time alone. Her sister was incredibly sweet like that. Not to mention a hopeless matchmaker. But there was no way Lonnie was going to blow off Peach after she'd come all this way just for her.

  The three of them made small talk for a little while, and Peach explained why she was so late. Something about making tinfoil wings at the last minute for the Women's Auxiliary Christmas Pageant, and sewing Iris's Wise Man costume.

  "So, is this the famous younger sister I've heard so little about?"

  Matt again. He'd come up to their table, and appeared to be sober now. Peach smiled up at him and introduced herself. Then Lonnie introduced Matt to Dominick, who said a pleasant hello but held a dark glare in his eyes.

  "Did you see Lunther and Delia?" Matt asked, grinning. He expanded, "Delia must be wasted or something. Last time I looked, she was trying to shove a third cigarette into Lunther's mouth, and she kept cackling and grabbing his knee."

  "What?" Lonnie said, surprised, and looked around for Lunther and Delia. She spotted them sitting in a booth with B.J. The display looked about as shameless as Matt had made it sound. "Are they always like that at happy hour?"

  Matt shrugged. "This is the first one I've seen Lunther at since I started working here." That was less than a year before. "But Delia usually just comes on to the skankiest guy in the place."

  Lonnie reserved comment about Delia's obvious aversion to change.

  "People are so weird," Peach said, smiling. Matt smiled back and asked her if he could buy her a drink. The two of them went over to the bar together, and Lonnie and Dominick were alone again. But they didn't pick up as intimately as they left off. She was thinking a little more clearly now, and it wasn't as if she were going to go home with him that night, or bring him home with her. It was too soon.

  She wanted to wait for the right setting. She wanted to wait for a night when they'd gone on a real date together. She wanted to wait till she'd stopped at a drugstore and picked up some condoms. And she wanted to wait until she wasn't so damn scared.

  * * *

  Lonnie had just finished changing into her white cotton tank top and green hearts-and-stars pajama pants. She climbed into her high, full bed, and slid under the puffy cream comforter in ecstasy. She knew Peach wasn't asleep yet because only minutes before, she'd tossed her pink kimono over the partition-screen and went to bed in only underwear. Lonnie spoke into the darkness. "Sorry I made you come tonight. But did you have a good time at all?"

  "Yeah, I had a great time, and you didn't make me do anything. Why didn't you mention how cute Matt was?" Peach asked.

  "I don't know. It never occurred to me that he'd be your type—"

  "Is there something wrong with him?" she interrupted. "Tell me now."

  "No, no," Lonnie said. "I don't know him that well, but he's pretty funny. Definitely smart. It's... it's just that he's sort of... I've just never felt like I could trust him. I guess he's too much of a charmer for me."

  Peach remained silent for a moment and then said, "I'll work on him."

  "I'm sure you will," Lonnie replied dryly. "Good, now you'll be more excited about the party I'm forcing you to go to Monday night."

  "You're not forcing me. Although, now that you mention it, it probably wouldn't hurt for you to make some other friends. No offense."

  "Suave, as always."

  Peach just laughed. "So, how did you leave things with Dominick?"

  "We're meeting at Borders tomorrow." Terry had said he would be getting into Boston sometime in the evening, so she figured she had the whole day open to spend with Dominick.

  She heard Peach sit up in bed. "My God, you actually found someone who shares your deviant obsession with bookstores? This is too much."

  "What's deviant about it? You've got books and coffee. That's heaven, baby." As Peach settled back in her bed, Lonnie added wistfully, "I really wanted to kiss him tonight."

  "Kith him? You're twenty-seven. I think you can skip the retainer at night."

  Lonnie giggled and bluffed, "I will when you skip the lumberjack snoring."

  "Liar."

  "Lumberjack."

  "Academic."

  "Starving artist."

  "Hussy."

  "Yeah, right."

  "'Night. Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  Chapter 8

  Dominick and Lonnie had been sitting in the Borders cafe for nearly three hours on Saturday, for the most part ignoring the books they'd grabbed from the stacks. She'd told him all about her functioning phobias of trains, elevators, and white sauce in restaurants. He'd told her all about his brief stint working for the IRS help desk six years before, and how
his brother David had recently been "born again." Time was both slipping away and standing still.

  Dominick had gotten there first, taken three books from the software/computer shelf, and snagged a table in the cafe. When Lonnie arrived, a thrilling kind of anxiousness invaded his body. Her hair was windblown and wild. Her face was pink from the cold, and her furry blue coat was wrapped tightly around her as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm herself up. She'd spotted him right away, and after selecting a few of the paperbacks on display, she sat down across from him.

  Now, they'd both gone through two cappuccinos and a lot of conversation, but had yet to make a dent in any of the books. Not that Dominick had any interest in looking at his computer books. One of them was about Power Builder, a computer language he'd already learned three years ago. The other two promised to be unbearably dry dissertations on manipulating code. The only reason he'd even selected them was to show Lonnie that he was on a comparable intelligence level. Sure, he had a nice title at GraphNet, but a lot of people could work their way up in any company if they learned the industry and put forth a strong effort. He wanted Lonnie to think he was intelligent, not just hardworking.

  "So, how long have you lived alone?" she asked him now, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands.

  "Three years," Dominick replied. "I've had bad luck with roommates."

  "Me, too," Lonnie said. "The last roommate I had—way before Peach—kept a poster of Antonio Banderas on the bathroom door, and insisted I refer to him as 'her boyfriend, Rudolfo.'"

  He laughed. "Well, my last roommate neglected to tell me he was in a Ska band, and that they needed a place to practice their sets." Her eyes widened, and he went on, "Most of the time I could deal with it. But there was this one time—when I had a presentation the next day—that I had to be a dick and ask them to leave. See, the thing was, they were all twenty-one, and they thought I was 'the man.' So when I asked them to leave, suddenly they looked at me like I was some kind of narc. After that, I never said anything again. The guy only lived with me for a year, anyway."