“Hey, what’s this place called?” I looked up at Finn, all business, and he started to laugh.
He looked down at my drawing and back at me, puzzled. “Planning a party? Good luck. I heard you’ve got to book this place a year in advance and the owner’s a real hard ass.”
“A party?” I shook my head, frustrated. “No, of course not!” I dismissed him. How absurd. Why would I want to plan a party at a place like this? Dissatisfied, I turned to his friend David. “I need the name of this place.”
I followed David’s grin and it landed on a matching face to my right. “It’s called Finnegan’s.”
The bulb now fully lit above my head, I proceeded to consciously close my mouth and try to act unimpressed. I nodded in Finn’s direction. “Is there any other dabbling I should know about? Diamond mines, oil refineries, that kind of thing?”
He looked like a schoolboy–embarrassed almost, although it was hard to tell in the dim light whether or not he was blushing. It was adorable and I found my eyes trailing down to his lips as the one side of his mouth curved up. I blinked, shaking my head and forcing my eyes away from his face. He laughed softly and hooked a finger under my chin so I’d look at him again.
“Can I get you a drink?”
I composed myself quickly. He’d ignored my question and moved on so I played along. Who knows how many women he’d brought here like this, trying to impress them with his Moses act. “Well, I don’t know. What’s good here? Do they have any specialties?”
Finn watched me with interest. I watched right back. He hesitated, then answered. “As far as I know there’s not a drink on the planet they can’t make. You name it, they’ve got it.”
“Really! Well color me happy! Let’s see if they can make me my favorite.”
I threaded my way through the crowd to the nearest bar. Finn was right on my heels. The bartender was an experienced looking fellow, about twice Finn’s age with a sort of blonding gray hair but similar green eyes that smiled at me before his mouth ever started its ascent. Finn leaned sideways on the bar and watched me, awaiting his victory lap.
I slid effortlessly onto a black leather stool and leaned both arms on the deep, polished mahogany. “Caipirinha please.”
The man nodded and proceeded to pull out a fresh lime, which he cut into several wedges, adding them to a hefty–sized rocks glass with a couple teaspoons of sugar. After mashing them together for a couple of minutes he pulled the telltale red black and yellow labeled bottle of 51 Pirassununga from a shelf behind him and proceeded to shake it with a good dose of ice and pour it over the fruit mixture.
The way Finn watched me made me feel warm and wanted, invited to participate fully in his experience of life. He was laughing again.
“What’s so funny?” I looked around for Kate, but she and David had made their way to one of the dance floors and I was alone with Finn and the two hundred or so other blurs that surrounded his face.
“I don’t know. Just didn’t peg you for a girl who’d spent time in Rio.”
I took a sip of my drink and found it perfect. The slow burn that always followed the sweet, tangy smoothness made its way down my esophagus and somehow landed south of where it belonged. I didn’t like where this was going. The bartender tilted his head slightly as he looked at me. “How is it?”
“Oh! It’s great! Thank you!” I started to reach into my purse for a twenty but he shook his head. I looked at him, then at Finn.
“Shall we go find a seat?” A glass of clear liquid had made its appearance on the bar next to Finn and he scooped it up in one fluid motion.
“Ok. Sure.” I nodded.
Finn tapped the top of the bar twice and grinned at the bartender. “Thanks da.”
There was that hand on my lower back again. I was beginning to feel like the quintessential sheep being led to slaughter. “Da? Nice, Finn. Nice.”
He laughed heartily then. “I thought you’d like that one.”
We slid into a comfortable booth. “So this is your dad’s place then?”
“It’s a joint venture.”
“And who started out smoking the joint?”
Finn laughed out loud. “He provides the money, and I provide the planning and “urban design” that makes it a hit.”
I looked around again and remembered the article idea. He’d planned this out? It was really well done. And it was definitely a hit.
“How long do you make people wait out there in the cold?”
He glanced toward the door. “As long as it takes to keep critical mass but not overwhelm it. People like to know it’s popular, but they want to be able to breathe as well.”
I hooked my thumb toward to doors. “And that’s where Venus and Apollo come in?”
He grinned at me. “Yes. Exactly.” His arm was still up on the back of the seat as we sat and I liked that it was above me, even if we weren’t touching. His other arm was up too. It wasn’t like he was trying to put his arm around me, but I somehow found myself wishing he would. I shook my head again. This was completely absurd. Where was Kate when I needed her? I scanned the dance floor but she was nowhere to be found.
Finn tipped his head sideways and studied me. “Who’s winning now?”
I looked over. “What? Winning what?”
“The argument you keep having with yourself.”
I sat up a little straighter. “I am. I told you, I always win these arguments. I don’t stand a chance against myself.”
His eyes narrowed and he took a sip of his drink. “So, how is it you came to be fond of Cachaca? Are you sure you’ve never been to Brazil?”
“Only in my mind.” I took another sip, but he still wasn’t tracking with me. “Ever read John Updike?”
He shook his head.
“He wrote a book called Brazil back in 1995. Kind of a Tristan and Isolde story line.”
“Well see now? I hadn’t pegged you for a romantic either.”
Ok so that made me a boring homebody who watched psychological thrillers?
His mouth curved up on the one side again. He took a slow, deep breath in and I watched his chest rise and fall. “And what does the book have to do with Cachaca?”
“I don’t know, it was the beverage of choice in the story, so I tried it once and I really liked it. It felt exotic to me, even though in Brazil it’s a poor man’s drink.” I took a long sip of my Caipirinha and this time the burn went to my head.
He watched me with some amount of amused concern. “You know, they say Cachaca is like Tequila in some ways. Too much can cloud your judgment.”
I nodded. “Yes. So I’ve heard.” Finn wasn’t the only one who kept things close to his chest. He didn’t need to know my history. I was feeling self-conscious, and more than a little angry with Kate for deserting me.
“I like your shirt.”
I shot Finn a look. “Excuse me?”
“Your shirt. It’s much better than the other one.”
“You mean the ruined one?”
His eyes rolled back and his head followed. He did seem genuinely sorry. “Are you certain you won’t let me reimburse you for it?”
“Positive.”
“Pink. Hmm.”
I shook my head. “What is it with you and this shirt thing?”
His head pulled back as if I’d pushed into his personal space. “I just didn’t peg you for a pink girl.” It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. I wondered if he knew he was actually going backwards in the point-making game?
“But I like it. It creates this fascinating contrast.” He rolled his hand in a circle as if to frame my head.
I looked down at my shirt. It was pale pink against my winter white skin, which at this point in my fluorescent light existence was almost translucent. “I’m sorry, did you say contrast?” I had to raise my voice a bit because the music had ramped up.
Just then David and Kate plopped down, obviously exhausted. She looked over at Finn. “Your friend’s a great dancer! I haven’t had this much
fun in ages!”
Finn smiled and raised his voice to match the increase in volume. “David dances professionally.”
It was Kate’s turn to be surprised. “Really! Where?”
David shrugged. “Mostly off Broadway. Trying to break in still.”
Kate nodded, satisfied. She’d studied at the School of Performing Arts, but never really ventured out past graduation, and hadn’t gotten picked up by a dance company. Instead she taught at one of the modern dance studios on the Upper East Side and helped with choreography at the high school in her neighborhood.
“Well Kate graduated from PA!” I offered with a grin. She kicked me under the table.
“No kidding!” David leaned forward and they ascended into their own little version of dancer’s heaven, leaving Finn and I sitting there, staring at one another.
“Can I get you another?” He was staring at my empty glass. As soon as I looked at him I knew I’d lose my cool if I had another and we ended up alone together, but at the moment I didn’t really care.
I stared at him through eyes that were already having a little trouble staying focused. “You bet.”
“Well aren’t you a brave one.”
“And what is it you’re drinking over there? Water?”
“Vodka. And I’ll join you in a second round if you don’t mind.”
I smiled. “I think I’d mind if you didn’t.”
He was gone in a flash and David followed his lead after getting Kate’s order. As soon as David was out of sight Kate was right in my face. “What the hell are you drinking?” She picked up my glass and sniffed it. “Oh, no you don’t. What are you, crazy? You never order that crap anymore. Don’t you remember the last time you drank that poison?”
“Of course I do.” I could tell I had a dumb smile on my face already. Kate looked over at the bar. Finn and David were talking to Finn’s father. “He is fine. I’ll give you that.”
As I was watching he looked over at me. Neither of us smiled or made any overt gestures, yet our faces entered into an entire conversation. He just stared and I couldn’t break my gaze loose. It was mesmerizing. I couldn’t figure out if he was playing me or if I’d somehow entered a parallel universe. Maybe he was right. Maybe he would need to be ensconced in some brilliant narrative some day.
Chapter 3
The two of them walked back toward us with drinks in hand and I suddenly realized that if I didn’t get up and move a bit I’d be sorry when it came time to drink that second round. Before Finn reached the booth I slid out and took the two glasses from his hands, setting them down on the table behind me.
I grabbed his hands. They were both cold. He must drink his vodka chilled. “Do you dance?”
“Not if I can help it, but I’m willing to embarrass myself if you are.”
I pulled him toward the dance floor. “Who said I was going to embarrass myself?”
Before we could weave our way through the crowd the song slowed down and I looked back, eyeing him suspiciously while scanning the room for the DJ’s box. “Did you do that?”
He smiled smugly. “Do what?” In one fluid motion he dropped one of my hands and wrapped his securely around my waist, spinning me toward him until we were face to face. His hand was warm again, surprisingly warm, and I was thankful for whoever dimmed lights on the dance floor, certain that my cheeks now matched my shirt quite perfectly.
The way he moved me with him felt like I was an extension of his arms, his legs. He couldn’t have known that I too had danced most of my life, but if this was foreshadowing, I was in for an awfully long fall.
It’s important to note here that I wasn’t looking for a relationship. At that moment I can honestly say it was pretty darn close to the farthest thing from my mind. Kate was right. The last time I had Cachaca I’d ended the night with a guy that turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. Fast-forward two years, including the nine months I spent in therapy, and I was just getting my life back on track. I didn’t need a distraction, but then again, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be held by someone who wanted to match his rhythm with mine.
The idea was tempting. The guy was quicksand.
I pulled out of his arms and took a deep breath. I knew I needed to tell him that this wasn’t right, but when I looked up at him he wrapped his hands around my jaw and gently pulled me into his mouth. The falling commenced then, as he released one of his hands to pull my hips back toward his. We moved along with the music and my body ignited, sending sparks in all directions. This was not good. I hadn’t even touched that second drink.
I struggled to resurface. It was an epic battle for control, one that I hadn’t seen the likes of in…well, I’m not sure I’ve ever had to fight that hard for control. It always came fairly easily to me–part of the hardwiring that happens when you live like me. Finn sensed the hesitation, and stepped back, studying my face. “Let me guess. You want to get out of here.”
I looked up, genuinely surprised. He’d obviously misread my struggle. “Well that’s a little presumptuous.”
He shook his head as if I were clearly mistaken. “No, I mean maybe you’d like to get some air.”
I’d assumed his presumption and guessed wrong–something else that hardly ever happened. This guy was unraveling my nerves and I couldn’t get my bearings. It was like he’d grabbed onto the one snagged thread in my sweater and it sent me spinning.
He didn’t wait for my answer, but took my hand and led me up a stairway, under a roped entryway guarded by another of the Mt. Olympians and through another door that opened onto a small rooftop atrium. There was just en ough room for a couple of chairs and a small table. A dim, yellow-covered globe fixture above the doorway cast a soft light onto the small space. It was cozy. Private. Exactly what I needed. But, how did he know that?
Finn squeezed my hand gently. “No one will bother you out here. Stay as long as you like.”
I was obviously at a loss for words. He turned to leave but thought better of it. Taking off his blazer he draped it around my shoulders. I felt like a small child and must have looked the part, because he smiled down indulgently and then he was gone.
The door closed behind him and I blew out a deep breath, dropping into one of the chairs. What the hell was I doing? I wrapped his jacket tightly around my shoulders and tried to sort through the events of the evening. All of my usual arguments crumbled in the face of reality. The guy seemed too good to be true. Maybe that was it…he wasn’t real.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was the measuring stick against which my life felt pale and drawn. Sure, I had a system. What I didn’t have was a clue how deep this rabbit hole might go. That I was, in the space of a few hours, suddenly willing to follow him down it was absolutely terrifying.
When I was a kid I used to love picking up sticks and trying to draw in the dirt or sand. If I was on the sidewalk or near a driveway, I would hunt for the kind of rocks that would crumble like chalk as I pushed them around on the hard surface. I colored with crayons and painted with those little orange watercolor trays in coloring books with flimsy pages that warped with the drying.
Then I discovered words and started drawing my pictures in story form. I ‘drew’ my way through long hot summers, stormy cold winters and every argument my parents ever had. My therapist said there’s some kind of connection in the brain between coloring and healing from trauma, so she gave me a ‘big-people’ coloring book and some watercolor pencils. I happen to find it fascinating that what my little-kid brain knew intuitively has now been proven out by science: Drawing heals. So there I was, twenty-five years old. Coloring. Drawing with words. I had always been the one doing the drawing. Now I was being drawn.
I don’t know how long I sat there on the roof, but when Finn found me I had my legs pulled up, completely wrapped in that blazer, staring out into space.
“When I said you should stay as long as you like I didn’t mean until you turned into a Popsicle.”
I looked up at him and smi
led weakly. “Sorry. Have I been out here long?”
“Come on. Let’s get you warm.”
He pulled me inside and through another secret door that led to a comfortable office with a couch, a pillow and a blanket.
“Do you want your blazer back?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “No, not until you’re back to room temperature.”
I sat down on the couch. The warmth was nice but I was still shivering. He grabbed the blanket and held it up behind me. “May I?”
I nodded, and he wrapped the blanket around me and the blazer until we were one big lump, then pulled the lump toward him as he leaned back onto the couch. I tucked in my feet and let myself sink in.
“Thanks.”
“Well what kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you freeze out there? Besides, we should probably be getting back to Kate and David before they send out a search party.”
I nodded in agreement. “Were you waiting in here the whole time?”
He looked up at the desk. “I had a little work to catch up on.”
“So, this is your office?”
“Yes.”
“And the pillow and blanket? It doesn’t double as your apartment, does it?”
“No, but on the particularly late nights sometimes I don’t feel like going home.”
I looked over at the desk. A strange sort of organized chaos, he could have definitely benefitted from some of my articles.
“Are you alright then?” He looked down his chin at me and I didn’t know how to answer.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re quite the debater aren’t you? I thought you said you never lose these arguments?”
“Yes well, apparently hardly ever might have been more accurate. I haven’t lost one in quite a long time.”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.” He grinned.
This was getting out of hand. I sat up, breaking out of my cocoon and then stood, handing him back his blazer. “Who said the argument was about you?”
Letters From The Ledge Page 34