Heavy hiking boots. Slender legs. Body form hidden by the trademark bulky red parka. A flag of chestnut hair streaming in the wind just begging to have fingers run through it. Coat zipped up far enough to hide the neck. Nice chin, slender without being angular. And where her face should be, two delicate hands holding a small point-and-shoot camera. Aimed right at him. Almost clear enough to read the stupid brand name.
“Nice. When’s the wedding?”
“Give me a goddamn break.”
Angelo waved a hand at the screen. “She’s not real. She a phantom who appears only on the first of each month.”
“You couldn’t prove otherwise by me, but she feels real. More real than…” He should never have opened his mouth.
Angelo rested a strong hand on Russell’s forearm.
“Melanie was real. Is real. She just isn’t headed in the same direction you are. And the girl on this screen probably has a voice like a harpy and a husband and seven kids at home. I’m offering you dinner with a flesh-and-blood lady. Nice one. Single too, though you try to touch her and I’ll kill you, right at the table and serve you your own guts over a nice bed of pasta. Eating dinner and making nice conversation isn’t cheating on some lighthouse babe that you’ve never met.”
Russell nodded, as much to stop Angelo’s pestering him as anything else. He glanced sideways at the screen, studying how her hair appeared to move in the wind in the series of frozen moments of the photograph.
Angelo had missed two details. She was alone in every photo.
And the hands that held the little camera had no rings on them.
# # #
“How do I do this?” Cassidy knew she was losing it. Could feel her voice rising and tight. She perched on the impossibly uncomfortable green leather and stainless-steel, bar stool in Perrin’s Gallery.
The whole shop was done in retro-50s diner. Instead of tables in the booths, there were mannequins wearing the latest designs. Instead of those music players, there were racks of clothes and accessories that would go with what the seated mannequins were wearing. Instead of a front counter, there were racks of other clothes. Instead of a cashier with gums and candies and pies of towering meringue in a display case, the glass cases held handbags, gloves, belts. Through the swinging doors there was no cook line. Rather there was a haven of shoes, boots, coats, and from the ceiling hung an unbelievable selection of umbrellas guaranteed to stand out in any crowd.
“When was the last time you had a blind date?” Jo had her lawyer voice on, the one designed to lull the obstinate into a sense of security, the upset into a pool of calm. Cassidy felt it working on her, and fought it.
“I dunno. Freshman year. And that was plenty.”
Jo glanced over at Perrin who shrugged. “How was I supposed to know Richie would take acid to get up his nerve?”
Apparently he’d been telling Perrin that he was really interested in her red-haired friend. Cassidy’d finally agreed to meet him. There’d been something strange about his eyes, a glassiness she hadn’t understood at the time. Naïve, sixteen-year old freshman from an island in the Pacific Northwest, totally flattered that an upperclassman had even noticed her. They’d had a nice meal at The Atrium, her favorite campus hangout. He was bright, interesting, and definitely enamored. But the way he kept staring at her was somewhere on the line between incredibly flattering and a touch creepy.
She’d finally had to ask.
“How do I look to you?” She’d put a great deal of effort into selecting nice colors that blended well together and shapes that showed off her figure. Perrin had even done her hair and nails for her.
Richie had gazed at her for a moment long enough to warm her cheeks. “The body of a goddess. A neck like a great snake. Your face would scare the hounds of Hell with its slavering jaw, massive fangs. No nose. Eyes of ice and hair of a mighty, writhing inferno.”
He’d tried to apologize for weeks afterward, swearing he’d never take drugs again, especially not hallucinogens. She told him it was okay, she’d sworn off ever being in his presence again.
She’d also sworn off blind dates, so how had Angelo talked her into this one? With a promise of great food and a charming man. She’d had enough of charming with Jack James. What she needed was someone with some heart, with a little connection with his emotions.
“You need more confidence. Think of it like your wine-tasting. I’ve seen you do that with style and panache.” Perrin tossed back her head making her lime-green perm swirl about her head like a whirlpool. Impossibly ugly, except on Perrin it was so cute that it made every man under forty turn and go silent whenever she entered a room. Okay, every man of any age who still had a pulse.
“I’m not going to a man-tasting. I’m going on a blind date and I don’t know what to do. You’re my friends, you’re supposed to be helping me.”
“Send Jo. She’ll wow him.”
Cassidy buried her face in her hands. “I can’t. I promised Angelo I’d review his restaurant this time. He’s probably been preparing for a week.”
“I thought they weren’t supposed to do that.”
“They aren’t. They all do. But they’ve learned that I’m not above begging tastes from nearby tables. So if I get an exceptional meal, so does everyone around me.”
“There.” Perrin aimed the one finger not covered by her elbow-long, green gloves. “That’s the attitude. Remember that feeling, right there. Use that and you’ll be invulnerable. And the man will melt and die at your feet unless he’s a complete jerk.”
“Clothes, Perrin.” Jo spoke quietly. “She needs power-dating clothes.”
“Black.” Cassidy called out as Perrin started wandering around about the shop. “And no dresses.”
Perrin held out a black dress that had cleavage down to the navel and a swirly, pleated mini-skirt.
“So not.”
Perrin laughed.
By the fifth rejection Perrin had stopped laughing.
“You’re tricky.” She inspected Cassidy carefully. Turned back to her racks and then once more to face Cassidy. She disappeared through the swinging stainless steel doors into the back room.
Jo met Cassidy’s gaze and arched an eyebrow on her rounded face. Neither of them were willing to guess what Perrin would come up with next.
She reappeared in with something definitely not black. “Put this on.”
Cassidy rubbed her fingers over the lush, red and orange fabric. “Cashmere. I love cashmere.”
“Don’t we all, honey. Now put it on.”
Cassidy headed for the dressing room, but Perrin called her back.
“Nope. You look incredible in that black turtleneck, just pull this on over it.”
She unzipped the front of the sweater and slipped it on. She zipped it partway up and moved to the triple mirror. The waist and the ends of the arms were such a dark red that they were as black as her pants. The sweater lightened upward from red to dusky orange and finally a dark gold the color of the inside of a pot of honey as it reached her neckline and the open zipper.
Perrin moved up behind her and looked at her in the mirror over her shoulder. She reached around and tugged the zipper a bit lower.
“I feel more naked than just the turtleneck.” The fading colors and low zipper gave her a plunging cleavage, without any exposed skin.
“It works. You’re fully covered, and he’ll be spending the whole time trying not to look at your breasts. It’s perfect. He won’t be able to look away. I’ll bet you another bottle of that amazing champagne we had. Besides, you have the nicest set of the three of us, time you flaunted them a bit.”
“I do?” She looked down, but they were just your average breasts in your average bra wrapped in a black silk turtleneck and cashmere.
“Mine are too flat, and Jo’s are a bit too much, though they suit her. Yours, with your figure, they’re just great. He’ll die. Trust me.”
She glanced at Jo over her shoulder. Again the raised eyebrow, with a tilt of the he
ad that indicated there was probably truth there.
Cassidy looked at herself again in the mirror. She did look good.
“On a much later date, the one you want to have sex after,” Perrin pulled the zipper up halfway to her throat, “and lose the black turtleneck. He’ll remember the undressed look of the first date and spend the whole second date dreaming of pulling that zipper back down.”
“How did you learn this stuff?” The instant the words were out of her mouth Cassidy wanted to bite her tongue and kick herself. She met Perrin’s eyes in the mirror, suddenly wide and vulnerable like a little girl. She turned and wrapped her arms around Perrin’s stiff body.
“Screw them. Screw them both. They can’t touch you anymore. Ever.” She could feel her friend nod at last and Cassidy held her more tightly until she felt her relax a bit.
They stood back from each other but Cassidy held onto Perrin’s thin arms. She felt the anger that came over her whenever she thought about her friend’s parents.
“I love you just as you are, Perrin. I think you’re incredible. I’m so glad you’re in my life.”
“Really?” She wiped at her eyes.
“Really. This sweater is perfect. I couldn’t get through this without you.”
Perrin finally nodded again.
Cassidy kissed her on the cheek and then clapped her hands together.
“What’s next?”
“Come-fuck-me boots.” Perrin laughed even though tears still trickled down her face.
“Not what I was quite after.”
Jo came over, “Kick-ass boots, then.”
“Kick-ass boots. Perfect.”
They headed for the back room, arm in arm.
She started whistling the tune.
Jo started singing the words.
Perrin laughed and joined in though her voice was still tight. “We’re off to see the wizard. The wonderful Wizard—”
Cassidy stumbled to a halt after they pushed through the swinging doors. There it was.
She slipped her arms free from her friends and pulled the knee-length coat off the mannequin holding a hamburger spatula like a submachine gun.
The same length as the Michael Kors parka. The same red, but that’s where the similarities stopped. The soft, red leather had been finely tailored. She slipped it on, did up the three giant black buttons and tied the black belt of the same leather once over. Sixties retro gone high end. The broad lapels made her feel part secret agent and part superwoman.
When she turned, Perrin was nodding and the unflappable Jo made a show of dropping her jaw before starting to applaud.
“You look fantastic!”
“And,” Perrin pointed, “It matches the sweater and her hair. You, my friend, are incandescent hot.”
# # #
“Thanks for cleaning up.”
“Is this good enough for your majesty?” Russell tugged once more to settle the corduroy blazer over his sport shirt. He’d even unearthed a tie with sailboats on it, but decided to go with the open neck instead. There had to be some limit.
“You look more than half human. Maybe even three-quarters. Now be nice and have fun.”
“Yea, right.” He hadn’t been this nervous about a date since sixth grade. Of course, it was strange having your first ever blind date in your early thirties.
“So, Angelo, how is this my idea?”
His friend just grinned at him. “Notice the wine labels at dinner.”
“I don’t need wine, I need a really big scotch.”
“Yeah, well forget it. I’m making you a great meal and I want you to be able to taste it.”
For the next couple minutes Angelo rattled off facts about the wines he was planning to serve. Would she be tall and fair, maybe remind him too much of Melanie? Short, dark, and beautiful like his mother? Dumpy and dull like he feared no matter how much Angelo claimed otherwise?
“Got it?”
“Huh? Not a word.”
Angelo punched his arm hard enough to get his attention.
“Look. The last wine. The dessert wine. Cinque Terre Sciacchetrà. It’s a dessert white. Amber. Flowery. Look for orange, grapefruit, and lemon tones. Dry finish. A lot of alcohol in this one. Can you remember that much?”
“Sure. Why?” He punched Angelo back just for the hell of it.
“It’s your idea. Local. Local. Local. It’s not just Tuscan, it’s Ligurian, from my family’s home town. If you want to leave a good impression on her, knowing that much at the end may help.”
“Okay.”
“Get out there.”
“Is it time already?” Suddenly he wanted to head for the back door and the nearest bar for that good scotch. Hell, he’d take a bad scotch right about now.
“Go.” Angelo pointed. “Did you bring something for her?”
“I was supposed to bring something?” He started patting his pockets as his friend sighed. “Jewelry, clothes, what?”
Angelo went over to a huge vase of red roses, pulled one out and brought it back.
“If the girl those are for accepts her boyfriend’s proposal tonight, she’ll never notice that she’s one shy of her two dozen roses.”
Russell eyed it carefully. “I didn’t do so well with the red roses with Melanie.”
Angelo stuffed it in his hand and pushed him out through the swinging doors. The other patrons turned to stare as the restaurant’s chef shoved Russell to a table set for two and pushed him into one of the chairs.
He pulled the rose from Russell’s hand and laid it across the opposite place. He leaned down to whisper.
“Stop being such a goddamn wimp.”
He left before Russell could hit him again.
# # #
Russell missed her entrance.
He’d sipped his water. Played with his fork. And started thinking about the layout of the galley. He shook out the swan or whatever the napkin was supposed to be and refolded it into the same general shape of the space he had to work with. A couple of sugar cubes became a row of cupboards. The salt shaker where the sink would go. Pepper mill for the fridge. The knife defined the edge of the counter. More sugar cube storage below.
Stove. He smacked his forehead. He’d forgotten the stove. Had to be in line with the keel so that it could swing when he was on a tack. He might be heeled over ten or fifteen degrees for weeks at a time. Gimbaled stove would have to go where the pepper-mill fridge was. The fridge traded places with the salt shaker. Stove to the right or left? He plucked a petal off the rose and moved it to one side then the other of the sugar cubes.
“Some boys never outgrow their toys.”
He glanced up at the woman standing before him. His eyes made it halfway back to his napkin-galley before they were drawn back.
Red coat. She wore a knee-length red coat. He opened his mouth, but closed it again as disappointment rocked him back in his seat.
This was no parka and she wasn’t his Lady of the Lighthouses, ready for heavy weather. Instead, she’d been wrapped in red leather so tailored to the body beneath that it belonged in his studio, not out on the street.
After a moment, she raised her chin and took off the coat. Only then did he realize he should have offered to take it. He started to rise, but she waved him back to his seat. Not a good start.
A waiter took the coat and he could that the coat hadn’t lied about what was beneath.
Black leather boots with two-inch heels clung tightly up to mid-calf, ending just where the swirling black skirt began. Her trim waist tapered up into a sweater that started dark and ended with the colors of autumn. The black turtleneck was surprisingly sexy. The sweater brought out the reds in her brown hair, wound back into one of those painfully tight coifs and…
“I’ve seen you.” Somewhere. He’d find it in a moment.
“And I you.” She slid into her chair with a grace that was as unconscious as a model’s was practiced.
“Where’s your girlfriend?”
“My what?” Russel
l could feel his throat closing.
“The tall blonde with legs to her ears. You were all over each other. I find it surprising that you are on a blind date after having her on your arm.”
“Valentine’s Day.” That was it. “The woman crying in the bar.”
As soon as he saw her reaction he knew it was a mistake. Her face closed. The teasing smile that had been intriguing a moment before was erased as if it’d never been.
“Sorry. Perhaps not your best moment.”
“Perhaps not.” She kept her gaze down as she fooled around with the rose with elegant fingers. A woman’s hand, not with the daintiness of a girl’s nor the sensual slenderness of Melanie’s. They were a woman’s hands.
“But you were beautiful in that moment.” Christ. Good one, Russ. Don’t know when to leave bad enough alone.
Her hands froze, but she didn’t look up.
“I’m a photographer. I would have killed to have a camera in that moment.”
“I’d have killed you if you had.” She almost raised her gaze.
“The three of you. Like you’d been together forever. I could see you fifty years from now, the same three women. Beautiful. Close.”
Under guise of rubbing his chin, he put his hand over his mouth to keep it shut before he shoved his foot in any deeper.
“Since college. Beautiful?” She lifted the rose and smelled it. Looking directly at him for the first time. Her eyes were a hazel-brown that was the color every autumn leaf longed to be. The rose accented the color in her cheeks as she brushed it back and forth below her nose. No detectable make-up.
“Yes,” his throat was dry. “Yes, beautiful.”
“Perrin maybe. The tall thin one, wild hair.”
Russell shook his head barely remembering her companions as little more than positions in a composition. A waiter passed by and in his wake, he caught his date’s scent. Warm, unperfumed, heavenly.
Where Dreams Are Born (Angelo's Hearth) Page 11