Eye of the Tiger

by Melanie Greene

  Natalie laughed. "You and me both. I can imagine how my mom would have reacted to dozens of uncensored photos of me being distributed across the whole digital world."

  Evan felt his eyes go wide. She couldn't mean...nudes? Had Natalie posed naked for someone? Was it before digital cameras were commonplace? Were there negatives out there? What would happen if he did an image search for her?

  She crumpled her napkin and threw it at him. "Get your damn mind out of the gutter, Evan Lee. I meant pics from teenage parties. Middle school sleepovers, me with no makeup. Days I went out in public in mismatched clothes. Elaine couldn't stand it when I messed up pictures. I'm still trying to figure out if she's given up on me, or what. I thought she'd delete a bunch more like that shoe shot off her hard drive."

  Right. That made sense, given her earlier freak-out. And damn if her mom hadn't done a number on Natalie, with no justification. Not that a sloppy or ugly kid's mom wouldn't be justified laying appearance-based pressure on her daughter, but Evan was willing to bet Natalie looked good no matter what she was wearing.

  Or not wearing.

  Before his mind got more sidetracked, Evan reached for her phone.

  "What are you doing?"

  He ignored her, navigating to her photos app, glad to see the tennis shoe picture was still cued up. He texted it to himself before handing back the phone. "There. Now it's preserved for eternity. You can't let your mom pretend it didn't happen. Because it's adorable. You're adorable, and when you find a five-year plan guy not hand-picked by your mother, he's going to love waking up next to your clean, bright face and lion's mane of hair."

  Natalie sucked in a quick breath and turned to dig in her handbag before Evan could be sure her eyes had gleamed with tears. He hoped not. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

  "I don't have a five-year plan," she muttered.

  "According to my dad, you do."

  She snorted. "That does it. I was already feeling bad because Koray has emailed me, asking about you, and I let him pry. Not much. I told him about you and Luke and the Leticia set-up. But it felt like--you know how on cop shows, the interrogator gets the perp to talk about something they both already know happened? And it opens the door. He already confessed to the convenience store robbery, so he may as well name his friend who was with him when they knocked over the pawn shop and his friend's friend who was driving the getaway car that might have hit the old lady?"

  Evan's shoulders were shaking, not just from her elaborate made-up crime story, but from the image of his dad as some hard-boiled detective playing good cop and weaseling info out of Natalie as she sat cuffed to a metal table under flickering fluorescent lights. She'd nailed the way Koray worked.

  And she'd cheered up considerably. She was trying to reapply her lip gloss, looking into a compact she'd pulled from her purse, but seemed to be having trouble fighting off a smile so she could maintain the sexy 'O' women made of their lips when making them up. Evan was cheering up, himself, watching each micro-movement of her full mouth. He shifted, leaning back and shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

  "Oh, hey."

  She glanced over her mirror at him.

  He pulled his hand free and extended his palm to her. "Don't snitch on me, but I got you this."

  Natalie lowered the lip wand and raised her eyebrows.

  He shrugged. "It's not a big deal. But I passed through the customer lobby on my way here, and I saw it, and thought I'd grab it for you. Kind of, you know, in celebration of your closing today."

  She reached out and took the tiny green house. It was larger than a Monopoly token, but a similar shape and shade, and emblazoned with the bank's logo. There had been a line of them along the tellers' counter, advertising mortgage services. They'd snagged Evan's attention because the color matched the dress Natalie had worn to the gallery. Her newly glossed lips parted in a smile as she tilted her chin at him. "You stole this for me?"

  "If you rat me out, I'm telling my dad you've been dropping hints about a new three-year plan."

  "You think gossip about me will distract him from your corporate malfeasance?"

  "It's not malfeasance."

  "You stole from your employer."

  He glanced around before he could stop himself. She chuckled.

  "Fine. Give it back. I'll return it."

  Natalie shook her head and dropped the house, along with her makeup, back into her bag. They stood and made their way to the exit. "Not a chance. This is prime blackmail material. I'm keeping it."

  "I'll deny everything."

  "Fingerprints. You're caught. I bet there's surveillance video. Who would I contact about that? The branch itself, or is there a building security service? What did you say your boss's name is again?"

  "I didn't."

  "Never mind, I'll ask Koray."

  "You aren't nearly as funny as you think you are."

  Natalie grinned at him. "Nonsense. It's part of what makes me adorable." She leaned in for a quick hug goodbye and Evan, smiling, watched as she strolled away on those striking heels of hers.

  Chapter Nine

  After yoga, Natalie followed Gillian out to the parking lot.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Going home. Why? What are you doing?" Nat asked.

  Gillian looked at her, then at the gym doors, then to the back of the parking lot where their cars sat in the paltry shade.

  Nat retreated to the shadow of the entrance overhang, sucking in her stomach. "What?"

  Gillian shook her head. "You never just walk out of class."

  "You always do." Natalie said, wielding her water bottle like it could deflect her friend's curiosity. She fought off the urge to smooth back her hair, much of which had sprung loose of her ponytail while she was saluting the sun. Knowing she would retreat post-workout to the locker room if she gave herself the option, she'd left her street clothes at home. It was time to brave walking sweatily through a parking lot full of other sweaty or soon-to-be sweaty people. Most people exhibited more bravery in an average week, but for Nat, it was a definite step out of her comfort zone.

  Gillian linked an arm through hers and nudged her to start crossing the asphalt. "Good for you."

  She ignored the fact that she stunk worse than the summer-hot parking lot, and was slicking her body all over Gill, and had splotched red skin. If Gill could do it, so could she. She'd be in her own home, exfoliating in her own shower, in mere minutes.

  "For the record," Gillian said, "no one looks at us. Every year I grade at least two essays that quote the same 2006 study about people not noticing details about others they pass. I keep meaning to propose my own article about SEO-optimization for researchers who want to be quoted by undergraduates."

  Natalie shook her head. "One of these days you'll succeed in being smartass enough to lower your Rate My Prof ranking."

  "Doing my best."

  "And we're all pulling for you. Thanks, by the way. I know I'm ridiculous." Since coffee with Evan earlier in the week, Natalie was noticing--and quelling--her obsession with presenting a careful appearance to the world. She didn't believe his statement about being attracted to her without the smooth shell. That first day at Black Gold, he'd ignored her actual professional self and looked instead for, as he'd said, her lion's mane of hair. His assessment of her as adorable in the Turkey photo was revisionist at best, if not an outright lie. But she wasn't going out in public with messy, sweaty curls to meet men. She was doing it to prove to herself that she was no longer thumping a disapproving finger against her own forehead.

  "You're not ridiculous," Gillian said. "We all have our quirks and insecurities. No matter how much our best friends tell us we don't need to harbor them."

  Natalie hit the button on her key fob to lower her windows. The air shimmered with the outpouring of the humidity that built up in her car during the most blistering of Houston's hot months. She looked back to Gillian. "I could say the same to you, if you want to turn from my physical appearance to your
sarcastic defensiveness."

  Gill had a combative way of tucking her chin at people. It terrified her students. "Very kind of you, I'm sure. Let's pencil that in for after Tuesday's class."

  Nat leaned in to kiss her cheek. "It's a date," she said with a wink, backing towards her car.

  Gillian snorted out a laugh as she tossed her yoga mat into her trunk. She slammed the lid. "Oh, go hydrate."

  Luke swung by Evan's desk before lunch. "Hey, quick favor."

  "Pretty sure you own me now." He didn’t mean it. Without Luke's blind date quandary, he'd never have called Natalie. Never have discovered Black Gold's Cubanos. And he was addicted to Black Gold's Cubanos.

  "Well, shit, if it's a problem--"

  "Nah, I'm full of it. Anything you want."

  "Great. I snagged a four-pack of theatre tickets from Marilyn Martin over in Customer Relations. Leticia's been wanting to see this Agatha Christie they're showing."

  Evan suppressed his smile. It didn't take a superforecaster to see where this was headed. Not that Luke had ever had subtlety on his side. "You've been talking a lot with Leticia?"

  On cue, Luke's ears turned red. The guy should grow his hair out, make his blushes less obvious. "A little bit. We had drinks over the weekend."

  “Nice.”

  Luke shrugged a little. "It went good, I think. Leticia, she liked your Natalie a lot. So I thought the four of us, we could make a night of it again. Dinner, show, all that."

  Evan nodded. "Sure, sounds fun. What night are the tickets for?" He took down all the info and reached for his personal cell as Luke headed back to Nineteen West. With any luck, Natalie would be between clients and free to check her calendar.

  "Natalie East speaking." He sank into her honey-smooth, professional voice.

  "Nat, hey, it's Evan. I thought of the perfect way for you and me to celebrate my dad's birthday."

  "Was that one of the things we were looking for in life?"

  "Of course we were. Why would you doubt that?"

  "No comment."

  "Sorry, I didn't ask, is this an okay time to talk?" Mr. Sensitive, that was him. He should have emailed instead.

  "Sure."

  Evan pitched the theatre idea. Turned out Natalie was interested in the play, and didn't have to rearrange anything to fit in the double date.

  Get-together. Not date. They weren't dating.

  "I'll have to head out right after; I've got an early showing the next day, but it sounds great, thanks."

  "Thank Luke, he's the one with the tickets."

  "Sounds like I should thank Leticia, actually. She's the one who likes me."

  "Hey. I like you."

  "Aw. Sweet. I like you, too, Evan."

  He could hear her rolling eyes again. He should stop calling before her eyes popped out from all the rolling he seemed to make them do. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't let my parents hear you say that."

  "Or my mom."

  "The last thing I want is them pushing us into a relationship."

  "The feeling, my friend, is mutual."

  To: Natalie East

  From: Lee, Evan

  Theatre Plans

  Evan Lee speaking up to say

  I'm glad you'll join us for the play

  Be ready at five*

  To go to a dive

  Beer and burgers to eat, okay?

  *I'll pick you up at six, but that doesn't rhyme. What's your address?

  * * *

  To: Evan Lee

  From: Natalie East

  Re: Theatre Plans

  I don't have your skill at rhyme

  But I'll be ready for burgers at the right time

  2311-B Desmond St. Maps don't always pull it up right--it's the one with the dark blue door. Text or call if you have trouble finding it. Thanks!

  * * *

  Natalie reread her lame attempt at poetry and hit 'send' before she could edit again. What did it matter? Evan's limerick was cute; so what? His mild jab at her phone greeting had given her a warm fuzzy, which she deflated by imagining telling Gillian about it. Her wry friend would ask if it was noteworthy to have a man listen to Natalie's words and remember them for entire days afterward. She couldn't come up with a comeback, which was proof that she wasn't being sensible. She and Evan had owned up to their attraction--to his overall appeal, and to hers when she had access to her usual stash of clothes and cosmetics.

  But attraction meant nothing. The prior generation's heavy-handed matchmaking guaranteed prying and incessant speculation if they dated. With Marisa and Koray shaping up to give Elaine some serious competition in the interfering-parent race, more ammo for any of them was a rotten idea. Chris had left her not three months ago, after over three years together, and in those years, Natalie had learned some things. Elaine had raised her only child to believe, deep down and incontrovertibly, that she needed a man in her life. Before Elaine's brief second marriage, Nat had been too young to question her mom's refusal to rely on herself.

  Duncan Colby had moved in when Natalie was eleven, married Elaine before she was twelve, and he and Serena moved out when Natalie was thirteen. Fourteen eye-opening months. Duncan wasn't cut from the same take-charge pattern of every other man in Elaine's life, from Natalie's dad to every mechanic, handyman, and financial advisor Elaine hired to help her out. They were all patterned on Elaine's maternal grandfather.

  Elaine's mother had turned toddler Elaine over to her parents so she could follow her bliss into rural Georgia. Nat didn't remember her great-gran, but Bubbe lived until she was ten. Few things had shocked her as much as her mom deliberately ripping the pocket of her shirt before the funeral. Lips pressed firm to make it clear she wouldn't tolerate questions, she steered her daughter to a seat at the front of the funeral home, and kept a staying palm on Nat's kneecap until the service was over. When they returned to Bubbe's Orthodox synagogue a year later for the yahrzeit, she called on all her preteen worldliness so she could take the separate women's entrance in stride. Bubbe and Gran expressed love for their granddaughter by doubling down on the lessons their free-love-embracing daughter had rejected. Elaine's move to Reform Judaism hit them harder than the news another out-of-wedlock baby was joining the family, but they'd always welcomed Elaine and Natalie to their Seders.

  Natalie understood exactly where Elaine's viewpoints came from. Until her stepfather blew through her life, with his easy charm and easy affection and easy assurance that they'd be fine once he left, Natalie hadn't questioned her mother's lessons.

  Serena had. Serena was nothing but questions. And provocations. Why did dinner have to wait on Duncan's arrival even when it was ready and they were hungry? Wouldn't it be easier to change the tire themselves instead of standing on the hot sidewalk waiting for roadside assistance? Did Natalie know that Serena's mom taught herself to use a computer and had planned a whole vacation with flights and rental car and hotel and a pass to visit the White House just by going on the world wide web?

  On reflection, it wasn't hard for Natalie to grasp why Serena moving out hadn't bothered Elaine. She could have done without Duncan's blasé passing on the responsibility to get his name off their joint bills and straighten out their tax return, but Elaine had proved him right by competently handling every task he left in her lap. The experience did nothing to change what Elaine taught Nat about the respective places of men and women.

  Her high school boyfriends were alternately chivalrous or macho, taking her adherence to their plans for granted. She'd accepted their leadership. A combination of luck and good instincts kept her from blindly following any of them into trouble of one sort or another. In college, Rachel's stories of her past prompted Natalie to recognize how wrong various nights with Tom or Gene or Victor could have gone. Not because any of them were inherently bad, but because they were all, Natalie included, less mature and far stupider than they'd thought.

  Dating with caution throughout college and her early twenties didn't alter the kinds of men she went out with. Elaine
approved of them. Wholeheartedly. They paid for dinner and brought flowers and set up a budgeting spreadsheet for her and helped her move into her first solo apartment and accompanied her to services on High Holy Days, even the non-Jewish ones. Because Natalie asked, and they were gentlemen. Caretakers.

  Chris fit the mold. Elaine flat-out adored Chris. His deft mechanical mind determined when the broken dishwasher needed an hour of his labor, or a repairman, or comparison shopping for a new machine. He told bluff, brash, ballsy stories about the Air Force and swaggered up to Natalie in his pilot's uniform, dipping her for swoony kisses before taking off for a few days. If he'd managed to be as manly, but more available, he'd have been perfect. Or so Elaine’s campaign went.

  Natalie hadn't disagreed. She ignored Serena's jokes about Chris cooling her down when he programmed her remote-operated thermostat. They both had unconventional schedules, so her need to work weekends never fazed him. He arranged for take-out and floral deliveries to her house when his flight segments kept her out of town. He could talk for a half-hour straight about how much he appreciated her understanding of the pilot's life.

  Most of the time, Natalie had not questioned Elaine's 'Chris makes your life better' narrative. Most of the time, she and Chris agreed they had a comfortable, compatible arrangement. Until the evening she found his note in her mailbox, Natalie thought they were on track to get married. So did Elaine. And Natalie shied from analyzing whether she or her mother was more upset by Chris's still–unexplained sudden disappearance.

  "My Sweet Sunrise, I'm moving on from Houston. Sorry it's such short notice, and that I can't explain. I hope you move on, too, and find a life of being valued as much as you deserve."

  Which left, as Gillian had been sure to point out, a certain ambiguity as to how much value she deserved, in Chris's opinion.

  Her friends arrived with wine and snacks. They drank and dissected every nuance of the note shoved, unsealed, among her catalogs and bills. She drove by his empty, paid-up apartment, called his disconnected cell. Talked to the one coworker whose contact info she had. He left no trace. After helping to plan her thirtieth birthday party, he became part of the ether before it took place.