“There’s a picnic area on the north side,” Cal said. “I’ll meet you at the first table tomorrow at noon.”
“Why do I feel like there should be a code word?” Min said, finally pulling away from him. “I’ll say ‘pretentious’ and you say ‘snob.’ ”
“You want to know about Roger or not?” Cal said.
Min looked back at Bonnie. If you didn’t know her, she looked detached, but Min knew her. Bonnie was glowing. “Yes.”
“Good,” Cal said. “Let me see your shoes.”
“What?” Min said, and Cal looked under the table. She pulled her foot out, and he looked down at her open-toed high-heeled mules, laced across her instep with black leather thongs that contrasted with her pale skin and bright red toenail polish. “Liza calls them ‘Toes in Bondage,’ ” she said helpfully.
“Does she?” Cal sat very still, looking at her toes for a long moment. “Well, that’s made my evening. See you tomorrow at noon.” He pushed back his chair and left, taking his Scotch and her rum and Diet Coke with him.
“Okay, I couldn’t hear the part at the end,” Liza said, leaning over to her. “What was he asking you?”
“I’m going to lunch tomorrow,” Min said, not sure how she felt about that. If he whispered in her ear again, she was going to have to smack him, that was all there was to it.
“Where?”
“Cherry Hill Park.”
“Jeez,” Liza said. “Softball of the Rich and Famous. What time?”
“Noon.”
Liza nodded. Then she raised her voice and called, “Tony.”
Min looked around for him and saw him at the roulette bar, handing Cal a ten-dollar bill. “I don’t believe it,” she said, straightening in outrage. The sonofabitch had bet on lunch and she’d fallen for it.
Tony looked up, and Liza crooked her finger. He walked over and said, “You know, I’m not the kind of guy you can do that to.”
“You and I are having lunch at noon tomorrow in Cherry Hill Park,” Liza said.
“Okay,” Tony said. “But only because I’ve gotta coach a softball game there in the morning anyway.”
“Good,” Liza said. “You can go now.”
Tony shook his head at her and went back to the bar and Cal.
“Well, at least he’s obedient,” Min said.
“Don’t get any ideas about saying yes at lunch,” Liza said.
“It’s lunch,” Min said. “In broad daylight. In a public park.”
“You said you weren’t going to see him, and he still got you to lunch.”
“I had a reason for that,” Min said, casting a bitter glance at the bar. Cal was still there, but now the brunette from Wednesday was there, too, moving closer to him in a blue halter top. That figured. Beast. “I’ll be fine, believe me, I know what he is.” She cast another look at the bar where Cal appeared to be sliding away from the halter top. Playing hard to get, the jerk.
“Yeah, well, I’m watching your back just the same,” Liza said. “And if it hits the grass, Calvin’s going to lose a body part.”
“Boy, you really don’t like him, do you?” Min said.
“I think he bet Tony he could get that lunch date,” Liza said.
“I think so, too,” Min said.
“See if you can do something horrible to him tomorrow,” Liza said.
“Already planning it,” Min said.
After another excruciating Saturday morning forcing fourteen eight-year-olds to play baseball against their better judgments, Cal was not in the mood to put up with Min, but he grabbed his cooler from the car, stopped by the charity hot dog stand for the main course, and went to meet her at the picnic table he’d told her about. She wasn’t there, so he threw an old blanket across the massive teak table—Cherry Hill did not stint on the amenities—put the basket on it, and then sat on top of the table, feeling cheerful about being stood up. It was a beautiful day, the park was thick with shade trees, the kids were gone, and nobody was bitching at him.
Then Min came into the park through the trees, following the curving crushed gravel path. She was wearing her long red sweater again, but this time she had on a red-and-black-checked skirt that floated when the breeze blew. Her hair was still wound in a knot on the top of her head, but her stride was long and loose as she came toward him, and the sun picked up glints of gold in her hair, and she smiled at him as she drew closer, and it suddenly seemed better not to have been stood up. And when he offered her his hand to help her up on the table, she hesitated and then took it, and her fingers were pleasantly, solidly warm as she boosted herself up beside him on the table.
“Hi,” she said and he grinned at her.
“Hi,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Min dropped her bag on the bench below them. “Give me ten bucks.”
Cal blinked. “What?”
Min smiled at him, cheerful as the sun. “I was going to make your lunch a living hell, but it’s such a beautiful day, I’ve decided to enjoy it. You bet Tony ten bucks you could get me to lunch.”
“No, I didn’t,” Cal said.
Min’s smile disappeared.
“Tony bet me ten bucks I could get you to lunch.”
Min rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Give me ten bucks or I’m leaving you cold and you’ll have to give Tony his ten bucks back plus ten more because you’ve lost.”
“I think I won when you said, ‘Yes,’ ” Cal said, suddenly a lot more interested in Min.
“Try explaining that to Tony,” Min said.
“Okay,” Cal said. “How about we split it?”
Min held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Ten bucks, Charm Boy.”
Cal sighed and dug out his wallet, trying not to grin at her. She took the ten, picked up her bag, stuffed the bill in it and then pulled out a twenty and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” Cal said.
“That’s the twenty you gave me for cab fare on Wednesday,” Min said. “I forgot to give it back to you.”
“So now I’m up ten bucks,” Cal said.
“No, now you’ve broken even. It was your twenty to begin with. I had no right to it since you didn’t get fresh.”
Cal looked up at the sun. “The day’s young.”
“I don’t see you making your move on a picnic table,” Min said. “In fact, I don’t see you moving on me at all, so tuck that away and tell me everything you know about Roger.”
“I’m glad to see you, too,” he said, and her smile widened.
“Sorry. I forgot your lust for small talk. And how have you been in the fourteen hours since we last spoke, eight of which you were sleeping?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Wonderful. How much of this before we get to Roger and Bonnie?”
“You’re a very practical woman,” Cal said, and then Min pulled her legs up to tuck them under her and he caught sight of her shoes, ridiculous sandals made mostly of ribbons with a single bright red flower over the instep. “Except for your shoes.”
“Don’t make fun of my shoes.” Min wiggled redtipped toes under the flowers. “I love these shoes. Liza gave them to me for Christmas.” She untied the ribbons and pulled them off and put them on the table behind her, patting the flowers before she turned back to him.
“I can see why you love them,” Cal said, distracted by her toes, and then she pulled her skirt over them and he added, “They’re very Elvis.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You are an Elvis fan?”
“Best there is,” Cal said. “You, too?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Min looked perplexed and then said, “Well, I guess it does makes sense. You are the devil in disguise.”
“What?” Cal said, and then it hit him. “Elvis Presley?”
“Well, of course, Elvis Presley,” Min said. “What other . . . oh. The angels want to wear my red shoes. Elvis Costello.” She shrugged. “He’s good, too.”
Cal shook his head in disbelief. “
Yes, he is.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date,” Min said cheerfully. “Or there’d be a really awkward silence while we tried to come back from that one.”
Cal grinned at her. “Have you ever had an awkward silence in your life, Dobbs?”
“Not many,” Min said. “You?”
“Nope.” Cal dumped the bag of wrapped hot dogs out on the blanket. “Okay. Roger and Bonnie. Have a hot dog while we talk.”
“A hot dog?” Min said, in the same tone of voice she’d have used to say “Cocaine?” “Those aren’t good for you.”
“They’re protein,” Cal said, exasperated. “You can have them. Just lose the bun.”
“Fat,” Min said.
“I thought fat was okay on no-carb diets,” Cal said, remembering Cynthie chowing down on buttered shrimp.
“It is, but I’m on a no-fat Atkins,” Min said.
Cal looked at her, incredulous. “Which leaves you what to eat?”
“Not much,” Min said, looking at the hot dogs with patent longing.
“They’re brats,” Cal said.
“Oh, just hell,” Min said.
“It’s Saturday,” Cal said. “Live a little.”
“That’s what you said Wednesday at Emilio’s. I’ve already sinned this week.”
“Saturday is the first day of the new week. Sin again.”
Min bit her lip, and the breeze picked up again, rustling the trees and lifting the edge of her skirt, floating it closer to him.
“I brought you Diet Coke to compensate,” he said, opening the cooler. “Also, this conversation is boring.”
“Right. Sorry.” She took the can he handed her and popped it open. “Really sorry. There’s nothing more boring than talking about food.”
“No,” Cal said. “Talking about food is great. Talking about not having food is boring.” He picked up one of the wax-paper-wrapped sandwiches and handed it to her. “Eat.”
Min looked at the hot dog, sighed, and unwrapped it. “You are a beast.”
“Because I’m feeding you?” Cal said. “How is that bad? We’re Americans. We’re supposed to eat well. It’s the American Way.”
“Hot dogs are the American Way?” Min said, and then stopped. “Oh. I guess they are, aren’t they? Right up there with baseball and apple pie.”
“Baseball you can have,” Cal said and bit into his hot dog.
Min squinted at his team shirt. “Isn’t that shirt sort of baseball-ish?”
“Yes,” Cal said. “For my sins, I teach children to run around bases on Saturday mornings. Someday, your husband will be doing this, too, while you sit in the bleachers and cheer on little whosis. It’s the price you pay for liberty.”
“I’m not having kids,” Min said, and bit into her hot dog.
“You’re not?” Cal said, and then was distracted by the look of bliss on her face while she chewed. The brats were good, but they weren’t that good.
She swallowed and sighed. “This is wonderful. My dad used to sneak us out for brats every time there was a festival anyplace within driving distance. My mother would have killed him if she’d known. Do you know how long it’s been since I tasted one of these? It’s heaven.”
“It looks like heaven,” he said, and then she leaned over to take another bite, keeping the sandwich over the waxed paper to catch the drippings, and he looked down the v-neck of her loose red sweater and saw a lot of lush round flesh in tight red lace. Tony would have a heart attack, he thought and then realized he was a little lightheaded himself. The breeze blew again and wafted her skirt against the hand he had braced on the table, and it tickled, soft and light.
“So,” he said, moving his hand. “All right. Why don’t you want to be part of the American Way?”
She chewed with her eyes closed, and he looked down her sweater again and had impure thoughts. Then she swallowed and said, “I have to give birth to be a good American? No. There are more than four million babies born in this country every year. The American Way is covered. If it worries you, you can have extra to make up for mine.”
“Me?” Cal sat back away from distraction. “I don’t want kids. I’m just surprised that you don’t. You’d make a great mom.”
“Why?” Min stopped with the sandwich halfway to her mouth.
Because she looked soft all over. Because she looked like she’d age into the kind of mother he’d have killed for. “Because you look comfortable.”
“Oh, God, yes,” Min said, glaring at him. “That’s exactly the compliment every woman longs for.”
She leaned forward to bite into her sandwich, and he watched transfixed as her breasts pressed against the lace again.
“It’s a very sexy comfortable if that makes it better,” he said.
“Marginally better,” she said, following his eyes down. “You’re looking down my sweater.”
“You’re leaning over. There’s all that red lace right there.”
“Lace is good, huh?” Min said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“My mother wins again,” Min said and bit into her hot dog.
Cal picked up his hot dog. “How’d your mother get into this?”
“She’s pervasive.” Min swallowed, frowning. “So if you don’t like kids, how’d you end up coaching?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like kids,” Cal said, trying to think of something besides Min’s red lace. “I said I didn’t want kids. There’s a difference.”
“Good point. And yet I ask, why coach?”
“I got shanghaied,” Cal said. “We both did. Harry hates baseball as much as I hate coaching.”
“Who’s Harry?”
“My nephew.”
“Why don’t the two of you go AWOL?”
“Turns out there are other kids on the team besides Harry,” Cal said. “Who knew?”
“Funny. So you’re out here every Saturday morning?” Min shook her head. “That must have been some shanghai.”
“I got hit by the best.” He picked up a pickle and bit into it. “It’s not that bad. Roger and Tony do most of the work. They like it.”
“Roger,” Min said. “Ah yes, Roger. I have some questions about Roger.”
“Not Tony?” Cal said.
“Tony is seeing Liza,” Min said. “If Tony turns out to be a rat, Liza will exterminate him.”
“Tony’s hard to put down,” Cal said, “but I get your drift. So Bonnie’s not like that?”
“Bonnie is no pushover,” Min said. “She’s smart and she’s tough but she has this one blind spot. She believes in the fairy tale, that there’s one man in the world for her. And she thinks your friend Roger is her prince on very little evidence. So tell me about Roger.”
“Roger’s the best guy I know,” Cal said. “And he’s crazy about Bonnie. He’s going to get banged up if she walks away. Tell me about Bonnie.”
Min shifted on the blanket as she reached for her Coke can, and Cal watched her, aware of every move she made, of the smooth curve of her neck as her sweater slipped toward her shoulder, the ease in her round body as she leaned back and smiled at him, the swell of her calf under her checked skirt as it blew toward him again. “Bonnie,” she said, bringing him back to the subject at hand, “spent a year and a half looking at couches. Couches are very important, they’re right up there with beds in the hierarchy of furniture, but even I thought a year and a half was a long time looking for a couch.”
“Yes,” Cal said, trying to think of Roger instead of curves. “But—”
“Then one night we were on the way to the movies and she stopped in front of a furniture store window and said, ‘Wait a minute,’ and went in and bought this horribly expensive couch in about five minutes.” Min leaned forward again, and Cal looked down her sweater again and thought, Don’t do that, I’m getting a headache from the blood rush. “She had to put it on two different credit cards,” Min went on, “and it took her two years to pay it off, but it’s a great couch and she’s never regretted it, and whe
n she had it reupholstered, the upholsterer said it would last forever.”
“Great,” Cal said, still looking down her sweater. She was breathing softly, just enough for the rise and fall to—
“Hello,” she said and he jerked his head up. “Not that I’m not flattered, but I’m making a point here. Roger is Bonnie’s new couch. She’s always been sure that some day her prince would show up, and she’s done a lot of dating looking for him, and now she’s taken one look at Roger and she’s sure he’s the one, and she’s going to buy him in about a minute. So if he isn’t a good guy, I want to know now so I can break it to her. Tell me he’s not a rat.”
“Roger took a year to buy a couch, too,” Cal said, regrouping.
“What kind of couch?” Min said.
“Sort of a La-Z-Boy with a thyroid problem,” Cal said. “I think it’s brown.”
Min nodded. “Bonnie bought a reproduction mission settle with cushions upholstered in a celadon William Morris print.”
“I think I know what ‘mission’ is,” Cal said. “Everything else, you were speaking Chinese.”
“Roger’s couch is toast,” Min said. “Will he mind?”
“She can chop it into kindling in front of him and he won’t blink,” Cal said.
“Can he take care of her?” Min said. “She probably won’t need it, but in a crunch—”
“He will throw his body in front of her if necessary. You have nothing to worry about with Roger. He’s the best guy I know. If I had a sister, I would let Roger marry her. It’s Bonnie I’m worried about. She’s got that efficient look that usually means she likes to boss people around. And since she’s so little, there’s probably a Napoleon complex—”
“Nope,” Min said. “She’s solid. Roger’s a lucky guy.” She finished the last of her hot dog and then licked a smear of ketchup off her thumb, and Cal lost his train of thought. “So they’re okay and we don’t have to worry,” she said when she’d wiped her hands on a napkin.
“Yep,” Cal said. “How about dessert?”
“I don’t eat dessert,” Min said.
“Really?” Cal said. “What a surprise.”
“Oh, bite me,” Min said. “I told you there’s this bridesmaid’s dress—”
Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me Page 46