Something About You (Just Me & You)

by Lelaina Landis

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “‘I’ll think about it’ means that you’ll do nothing of the sort. Promise me you will,” Molly urged.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him,” Sabrina agreed reluctantly. “But that’s all I’ll agree to.”

  Molly smiled cheerfully. “Super! Because he and Sebastian will be back any minute,” she said, jumping up. “Shall I make tea?”

  While Molly was puttering around in the kitchen with the teapot, Sabrina heard a car pull into the drive. She frowned. That kind of ostentatious roar could only belong to the engine of a vintage muscle car. Molly and Sebastian shared an ancient Volvo station wagon. Doors opened and shut. Then she heard the men’s voices: Sebastian’s eloquent, measured timbre and another that was distressingly familiar.

  Sabrina peered through the slats of the vertical blinds and saw two heads bobbing up the front steps. One had unremarkable brown hair with a zigzag part. Predictably, the other was an odd shade of deep red.

  Richard Collier. Right.

  Was this their collective idea of a joke? Applying any descriptor that alluded to old-fashioned male virtue to Gage Fitzgerald and his alter ego, “Fitz,” created an oxymoron to rival that of “gentlemen’s club.” Certainly Molly had snagged a clue before she orchestrated this little meet-up. Knowing Molly, it wasn’t purely by happenstance.

  A single word came to Sabrina’s mind: Escape.

  She darted into the main bedroom, but the double doors leading to the back porch were blocked by a huge open trunk that seemed to be regurgitating clothing. She heard the front door open. Hastily, she stepped through the nearest open portal and closed the door swiftly. She stood in the small, dark space motionlessly, her ears on alert. Maybe Gage Fitzgerald would just go away, she hoped as something furry tickled her bare arm.

  The men’s voices grew louder. Sebastian the genteel academic let out a hearty bwa-ha-ha in response to something Gage said. Sebastian’s sense of humor was as esoteric as his intellectual meanderings. Sabrina recalled having all of two conversations with him. One was about how to properly recite Cædmon’s Song in Old English. The other involved a more intense debate about whether Ray Bradbury’s work could be considered literary fiction. None of their discourse had involved bwa-ha-has or even a chuckle.

  Molly’s voice finally chimed into the mix. “Sabrina? Brini! Funny. She was just here a minute ago. Brini?”

  The pine floors creaked as their footsteps grew closer. Sabrina held her breath. Suddenly, the door swung open. She squinted into the light.

  “Sabrina, why are you standing in the closet?” Sebastian asked seriously. Six-foot-four and reed thin, he loomed over her, his large dark eyes perplexed. When Sabrina met him for the first time, her initial impression was that he looked a little like an extraterrestrial.

  “That’s a good question, Sebastian,” she gulped.

  Molly quickly swooped into the walk-in and pulled the light chain. “Sabrina asked to borrow a sweater,” she lied smoothly. “How ’bout the red cashmere?” Molly made a big to-do of searching around in the racks.

  “I’ve always loved the cashmere. Thanks, Molls,” Sabrina said.

  “Here.” Molly pushed the cardigan in her arms and nudged her out of the walk-in with a warning look. “Let’s all be sociable.”

  “Gage tells me the two of you met at our wedding reception,” Sebastian mentioned as he traversed the area between the closet and his desk with an easy stride. It took a practiced eye to discern his slight limp, and Sabrina would have never known he wore a prosthetic limb if Molly hadn’t told her. “He gave me the low-down on the hoopla. Apparently, Molly and I owe both of you our firstborn for digging us out of deep shit at Green Pastures.”

  “Yes. Hello again, Gage.” Sabrina said stiltedly.

  “Re-salutations to the most unconventional maid of honor I’ve ever met,” Gage said with a slow, sly smile. Dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt flapping open over a natty gray river driver, he managed to look even sexier than he did in a tuxedo, Sabrina noticed with irritation. What appeared to be a black Celtic design peeped out of his shirt at the neckline. Even more startling than the unexpected sexiness of Gage’s faded flannel shirt was the way the crisp, black ink curled over his firm alabaster skin, like calligraphy on parchment paper. She wondered if he acquired new bits of body art as easily as animal lovers took in strays.

  “I should probably take that as a compliment, since I found her first,” Molly said. “Sabrina’s always had a way of bucking the trend. Well, you do too, Gage. When Sebastian told me you were looking for a place to live, she immediately came to mind. And,” Molly added pointedly, “her house is practically within spitting distance of the station, right here in the Corners!”

  “What did we agree to? No hard sell,” Sebastian told his wife, but a doting note had crept into his voice.

  “Proximity is a plus,” Gage said. “But I don’t want to foist myself on anyone. Our trend-bucker doesn’t look too happy about taking rental applications, Molly.”

  His gaze captured Sabrina’s. Mongoose and cobra, she thought, mesmerized by the way his eyes seemed to twinkle even from a distance. Was it the sweater, or was the house finally heating up?

  “That’s not true, Gage. Is it, Brini?” Molly’s warning look was her cue to snap out of it.

  “Huh? Oh, sure,” Sabrina said. “I’m open to nontraditional arrangements. But if I choose a male renter, he has to be a good fit.” It was a poor choice of words. Her face flushed, and she watched a muscle tic on the side of Gage’s mouth as he suppressed a smile.

  “You’ll want to confab one-on-one,” Molly said reasonably. “Sit down over a cup of coffee. Who knows? You might find you mesh wonderfully.”

  “Ah, can Molly and I get something in writing that both of you will still speak to us when this plan backfires?” Sebastian asked distractedly from his desk, where he was sifting through student essays.

  “Hell, Sebastian, you know me. I’m easy. But I’ll defer to Sabrina. It’s her place, after all. And her decision.” Gage lobbed the ball back into her court.

  “Sure. We can talk,” she heard herself say. Not just because Molly was looking thoroughly pleased with her “solution.” Because that morning she’d been rifling through the mail and couldn’t find her mortgage statement, and it seemed like the universe was trying sending her a sign. Sabrina didn’t appreciate unwelcome signs.

  “Why do I feel like we’re meddling?” Sebastian wondered aloud.

  “We’re not meddling, ’Bastian. We’re helping our nearest, dearest friends.” Molly threw her arms around him and kissed the top of his head.

  “We’re meddling, darling,” he said, tipping his face so she could kiss him on the lips.

  Sabrina snuck a look at Gage. He was observing the tableau with a ghost of a smile. Their eyes met, and a lopsided grin tugged at his lips again. Plush lips that had kissed hers. It didn’t help that Molly’s murmurings and Sebastian’s mmm-hmms were kicking up the oxytocin in the room to heady levels.

  Suddenly, Sabrina felt de trop.

  “Molly’s made dinner,” Sebastian said distantly. “Feel like pulling up a chair, you guys?”

  “I really need to dash,” Sabrina said, sensing that their presence was interrupting the couple’s pre-coital action.

  “What about you, bro?”

  “Nah, I’ve kept you from your bride too long already,” Gage replied. “I will, however, be happy to see Sabrina to her car,” he added with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  **

  A brisk northern wind scattered the leaves that had been raked into small piles earlier that day. Gage was accustomed to the intemperate weather of cold Midwestern winters, so the chill in the air felt practically balmy. He glanced down at Sabrina, who was pulling her cardigan tighter. There was a mutinous expression on her face that needed no further interpretation.

  Not a happy camper.

  “Sebastian and Molly met, and fate smiled,” he mused. Maybe
a little light conversation would break the ice. “One day they’ll be one of those old couples who slow dance in the kitchen late at night. I hope there’s some of that cosmic fairy dust still circulating in the atmosphere when I get married.”

  “If you ever get married, I suspect it will be to the last woman breathing.” Sabrina gave him a crispy glare from underneath a flurry of long bangs that were whipping in the wind. “So I wouldn’t hold out for cosmic intervention, if I were you — Fitz.”

  “It’s always nice to meet another fan,” Gage affected a genuine tone of voice. So she did listen to his radio show after all. Maid March was certainly full of surprises. So she thought she had him all figured out, did she? He tried not to grin.

  “You are not — I repeat, not — allowed to refer to me as a fan.” She shook her head adamantly. “‘Cuffs not as stiff as the collar’? Seriously, Fitzgerald?”

  “You say you’re not a fan, but you listen to what Fitz has to say — obviously quite religiously,” he pointed out.

  “Everybody listens to ‘Fitz and Giggles’,” she said. “It’s the aural equivalent of a ten-car pile-up; you can’t help but to rubberneck. And please don’t speak about yourself in third person. It’s bizarre.”

  They came to a stop when they reached her Audi.

  “‘Fitz’ is a third person,” Gage explained. “He’s a cultural construct. He’s the guy you hate to love — the guy who grabs your ass in public and calls you ‘sweet cheeks.’ He gives you a roll in the sack you won’t forget and never calls again. He’s the diamond who’ll always be in the rough. Men want to be Fitz. A lot of women just want him.”

  “Oh, really?” He noticed that she made a point to sound disinterested.

  “Really. Of course, that all depends on the woman. Obviously you, the more conservative—” He stopped short of using the word “uptight.” “—kind of woman, find parts of my show objectionable.”

  “Parts of it?” Sabrina snorted. “Try all of it in sum total.”

  “Give me a specific example of a bit you find particularly offensive,” Gage told her. “Think of it as helping me do market research.”

  Sabrina folded her arms across her chest as a look of concentration crossed her face. He could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain. Oh, boy, he thought. He couldn’t wait for this.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s start with ‘My Big, Fat Fantasy Fetish’.”

  Gage shrugged and grinned. “Some of my listeners prefer female companions of more Rubenesque proportions. Where’s the harm in that?”

  Sabrina massaged a point between her temples. “You poll men about their preference in women’s undergarments — on air,” she added with a hoarse squeak.

  “Gives ’em something to talk about after the weekend.” He didn’t want to tell her that the underwear topic had been done to death by countless radio jocks across the nation. “Personally, I don’t see the allure of lingerie. What’s the point in getting worked up about something that stays on for all of thirty seconds before the main event?”

  Sabrina raised her eyebrows in surprise. She started to say something, then clamped her mouth shut.

  “‘Fitz and Giggles’ is the reason KCAP has the number one morning show in Austin,” Gage went on. “I made it happen in Kansas City and Chicago, too.” He didn’t attach any arrogance to the statement. Regardless of what Sabrina March thought, he was proud that he could make a living doing something that he enjoyed. “Bottom line? It works.”

  “I suppose men in your particular line of work have to have a gimmick,” Sabrina said grimly.

  “Okay, I get it. You’re pissed off about Monday’s show. But you will take note that I never named names,” Gage pointed out.

  “You didn’t need to. By the end of your forlorn soliloquy about heavy petting and blue balls, your listeners knew everything about me but my parking space number. Do I really have to point out that I work in a profession where reputation means everything?”

  “Sometimes I forget that there are still people who take themselves way too seriously,” he muttered. “My sincere apologies for offending you.”

  He slipped a glance at Sabrina, who looked only slightly mollified. If there was a time to bow out of their agreement to discuss housing arrangements, it was right here and right now. Then he thought of Molly’s effusive insistence when she and Sebastian had proposed the idea to him earlier that afternoon. Gage needed a new pad, pronto. Sabrina needed a housemate. Molly proclaimed it serendipity. Only Molly obviously didn’t know the half of it, and Sabrina was clearly unhappy with the idea.

  At least the last time he had lived with a discontented woman, he’d had carnal privileges.

  Maid March wasn’t vaguely discontented like the other women in his life. Gage was sure of that much. Oh, she talked a good game. She gave everyone the impression that she had it all together. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

  When Sebastian had first proposed moving in with one of Molly’s friends, he had given Gage a bare-bones sketch of a woman who had bought too much house and needed a housemate to offset the expense. Then Molly herself had filled in the lines with her own colorful flair, and Gage had discovered that said friend was one Sabrina March. Sabrina, who had purchased property with ‘the most uninspiring man known to womankind,’ as Molly had described the ex. A man Sabrina had always had serious doubts about marrying, even though she had managed to convince herself that these doubts were a bad case of cold feet.

  Or at least that was Molly’s interpretation of it.

  All of this makes Maid March a very foolish girl, Gage thought.

  But underneath all that fire and pepper was a woman whose problems ran much deeper than the inability to make sound decisions about buying real estate. Maid March had needed something — or someone. She had most definitely needed him, at least for one night. Gage had felt it in the way she’d clung to him tightly when they kissed, and after that, when she’d fallen asleep in his arms, her fingers still clasped around the lapels of his tuxedo.

  “Look, I promised Molly we’d talk, and I always keep my promises,” Sabrina told him. “When does your shift end?”

  “I get off at ten. But if you’re not crazy about us sharing digs, don’t do me any favors. I have other options.” Gage took on a serious tone so she’d know he meant it. Time wasn’t a commodity he had to spare. Of course, he didn’t have any intention of letting Sabrina know that.

  “My goal is to procure a warm, breathing rent-paying body who won’t hog all the hot water and who is preferably sane by the first of the month,” she informed him. “Believe me when I tell you that I won’t.”

  “Sounds like I could be your man,” he grinned.

  “We’ll see.” In the near-darkness, her streaky hair took on a silvery cast. Gage recalled the way it felt between his fingers. Thick and silky. Like running his hands through the pelt of an exotic animal.

  The unspoken weightiness of their make-out session hung in the air. Judging from the way Sabrina was sneaking wary looks at him with those big, liquid eyes of hers, she was thinking about it too. There was something else she was probably mulling over, he thought. Namely, how to get out of opening her home to him — and being the industrious type, she’d no doubt exhaust every option before she turned to him as her last resort.

  A strong wind whipped around them in an elliptical pattern, kicking up the scent of ozone and dead leaves. The yard went a shade darker as the lights in the house went off. Gage thought of dinner growing cold while Molly and Sebastian sloped off to bed and turned up the heat.

  He watched Sabrina wipe away a drop of rain that had landed on her cheek. Gage instinctively opened the car door for her. Not to get on her good side, although that’s probably what she was thinking. He had been raised a gentleman.

  “Meet me on Thursday at noon at the Capitol Grill,” she told him curtly, slipping into the driver’s seat. “The garage is on the east side of the main building. Make sure to bring ten dollars in cash.” />
  “Why?” he asked, nonplussed.

  Sabrina swung her other leg into the car. “Because I’m not comping your parking.”

  From: docmarch@riversidedental…

  To: smarch@house.theodore.ward…

  Subject: Dinner w/ my Daughter

  Sabrina,

  Your mother called this morning in the middle of a root canal, so I knew it had to be about you. Nola tells me you’ve bitten off more than you can chew with that damned house. She mentioned something about you looking for a renter. I don’t like to think of my daughter taking in a stranger to pad her mortgage payments.

  I want to help. Even if you decline said help, I would still like to have dinner with you tonight. I’ll be in Cadence Corners around 7 p.m. How ’bout Bella Notte?

  Dad

  P.S. I read in the newspaper that your man Ward is introducing some kind of “urban revitalization” bill this session. The Tide Brothers must have deep pockets.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Some things in the Corners never changed, and Bella Notte was one of them.

  Sabrina’s gaze swept over the pristine white tablecloths, low-hanging chandeliers and tall windows with their luminous ivory panels. When she was a little girl, the restaurant impressed her as the height of sophistication. The olive-skinned waiters spoke with Sicilian accents, and the menu items were written in Italiano.

  In its heyday, Bella Notte had been the first and last port of call for governors, visiting dignitaries and even presidents after working hours ended. Sabrina could think of many times when she walked home from school only to see a fleet of black stretch limousines parked in front of the restaurant’s entrance. When Les March’s dental practice finally started to generate a healthy income, he had treated his wife and daughter to a meal there every Friday night. Sabrina had been thrilled.

  Bella Notte still drew the occasional cadre of statesmen, who gathered at the bar during happy hour, as well as neighborhood old-timers who went there to celebrate special events. Sabrina had to concede that after more than two decades, Bella Notte’s Old World atmosphere felt dated compared to the trendy tapas bars, sushi joints and farmhouse French cafés downtown.