Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  Of course, in her drowsy, rapturously romantic mind, anything would have been a sign. The built-in bookshelves along the far wall were a sign. The sound of someone clattering around in the kitchen down the hall was a sign. The fact that Erika had spent the night on a loveseat was definitely a sign.

  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with the heels of her hands, then stood and tiptoed out of the room behind Laura. The guy on the couch was sleeping so soundly, they probably could have stomped out of the room, clapping their hands and bellowing the Mendham High School song, and he would have slept through it.

  After a quick stop in the bathroom, Erika followed Laura into the kitchen. Ted was there, along with an older woman in a camp shirt and matching shorts in such a bright turquoise they hurt Erika's eyes. Jennifer's mom, Erika recalled. She'd met the woman briefly last night. Unlike Ted, who looked as sleepy as Erika felt, Jennifer's mother appeared sharp and energetic and ready to embrace the day.

  She'd fixed a pot of coffee. A couple of large pink-and-white boxes from Dunkin Donuts stood open on the counter, displaying an assortment of doughnuts. "Good morning, girls!" she greeted Erika and Laura cheerfully.

  Erika managed to return her greeting, but her attention was on Ted. His hair was even more tousled than usual, but he wore a collared polo shirt and khaki slacks, proper apparel for a caddy at Sommerset Country Club. He was holding a mug in both hands, lifting it to his mouth as if it were filled with precious nectar. Given the hour and the job awaiting him, the caffeinated drink was clearly essential to him.

  Yet he apparently believed Erika was even more essential than coffee. He paused before sipping as his gaze zeroed in on her, and he smiled. "Hey," he said in a dark, husky voice.

  That sexy hoarseness probably resulted from too little sleep, but Erika decided to believe it was a reaction to her. "Hey," she said back.

  He smiled.

  Evidently unaware of the current spinning between Erika and Ted, Jennifer's mother said, "I've got plenty of doughnuts. There's fruit and orange juice in the fridge, and we've got cornflakes-"

  "Thanks anyway," Laura said, covering for Erika and Ted, who were gazing at each other like lovesick fools. "Coffee is fine."

  "Well, help yourselves. Here's milk and sugar-" Jennifer's mother waved toward a small ceramic pitcher and a matching ceramic bowl situated near the coffee maker "-and there are cups in the cabinet." She gestured toward the polished cherry cabinet above the coffee maker. Her hostess responsibilities complete, she smiled and bounced out of the room, her sandals making quiet slapping noises against the soles of her feet.

  "Coffee," Laura said, giving Erika a nudge to snap her out of her spell.

  "Right." She eyed Ted and laughed helplessly. He smiled, leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee.

  "You really should eat something," Laura advised Ted. "My father's going to run you ragged."

  "Is he a good tipper?" Ted asked as he helped himself to a cinnamon cruller.

  "Are you a good caddy?" Laura shot back. She pulled two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with coffee. "You want a doughnut?" she asked Erika.

  Erika shook her head. She had no appetite. She was too sleepdeprived, too giddy. Ted looked as good to her this morning as he had last night. As he had at the prom last week. As he had when she'd seen him wrestling.

  Correction: he looked even better today than he had ever before. Today she knew he liked her. He liked her.

  She should have spent a little more time in the bathroom, working on her appearance before she let him see her. She'd brushed the tangles from her hair with her fingers and washed her face, but she'd looked bedraggled in the mirror above the vanity. A few minutes of fussing wouldn't have improved things much, and more than a few minutes might have resulted in Ted's arriving late for his caddying job. So she'd given up and figured that if Ted really had that much of a crush on her, he would just have to accept her with her eyes a little bloodshot and a faint impression from the loveseat's textured upholstery branded on her cheek.

  Either he was staring at the little red dents in her cheek or he was just staring at her, taking her in, thinking-as she was-that last night had been some kind of miracle.

  "Okay," he said abruptly as he slugged down the last of his coffee. "We'd better go."

  He snatched another cruller from the box and they trooped out of the kitchen, out the back door and around the house to the front, where Laura's car was parked. The early morning sun was gentle, the grass wet with dew. Laura led the way, and Ted took Erika's hand.

  Oh, God, she liked holding his hand. His palm was warm and smooth and his gait matched hers, and ... man, she had it bad.

  Laura didn't object when Ted and Erika both got into the backseat. If she felt like their chauffeur, well, it was her fault for bringing them together, putting this whole thing in motion. Erika glimpsed the reflection of her friend's face in the rear-view mirror and saw that Laura was grinning. Obviously she was too pleased with herself to mind the seating arrangement.

  "How's your father's game?" Ted asked Laura as she eased her car past the other cars lining the driveway and steered out onto the empty road.

  "He's pretty decent. And he won't bite your head off if you give him the wrong club."

  "I would never give him the wrong club," Ted swore. "I'm the perfect caddy. Even when I'm half asleep," he murmured, giving Erika a sly smile.

  She made a face. "You slept like a log."

  "I felt like a log. That floor was hard."

  "It had a thick carpet."

  "Easy for you to say. You were on the couch."

  "The loveseat, and it was much too short."

  "Is this our first fight?" he asked, still smiling as he gave her hand a squeeze.

  "Our first and last," she said solemnly.

  He laughed. She did, too.

  Too soon, Laura was cruising up the driveway of the Sommerset Country Club. "How are you going to get home?" she asked Ted as she slowed to a halt in front of the sprawling brown clubhouse at its end.

  "I'm caddying all day," he said. "One of the other caddies will give me a lift." He turned to Erika. "Are you free this evening?"

  She was pretty sure she was-and if she wasn't, she would change her plans, whatever they might be. She couldn't think of anything she'd rather do than spend the evening with Ted. "Call me," she said.

  He pushed open his door, then turned back to her and touched his lips to hers. Very lightly, very tenderly. There was nothing hot or demanding in his kiss, nothing pushy or mushy. Just the loveliest kiss she'd ever experienced.

  Somewhere through the haze of warmth that had engulfed her, she heard him thanking Laura for the lift. Then he jogged toward the clubhouse, tucking the tails of his polo shirt into the waistband of his khakis. He swung open a door, stepped inside, and disappeared.

  Erika fell back against the seat, her eyes closed and her mind replaying the sweetness of his mouth on hers as she waited for her heart to stop galloping like a runaway horse. A long moment passed, and then she opened her eyes.

  "Oh, my God," Laura said, then giggled.

  "Oh, my God."

  "Are you in love?"

  "Of course not," Erika said indignantly, trying her best to act normal despite the fact that her heart was still beating crazily. She got out of the car, slammed the door and climbed into the passenger seat next to Laura, who was scrutinizing her like a scientist examining a lab specimen.

  "Say thank you, Laura."

  "Thank you, Laura," Erika said briskly. "Let's go home."

  "Thank you, Laura, for getting me together with Ted," Laura coached her.

  "If you gloat, I'll never speak to you again."

  "I'm entitled to gloat," Laura declared as she started the engine. "I'm your fairy godmother. One wave of my magic wand, and voila!"

  "Yeah," Erika said begrudgingly. "But I'll still never speak to you again. And don't stare at me like that. I'm not in love."

  Laura only grinned and pulle
d away from the clubhouse. Erika gazed out the window at the expanse of manicured lawn, glittering with dewdrops beneath the morning sun as if someone had strewn tiny diamonds among the blades of grass. Beyond the lawn, pine trees stood like living spires poking into the cloudless sky. It was a beautiful morning for golf.

  It was a beautiful morning for being in love.

  Which she wasn't, she swore to herself.

  She flicked her tongue over her lips and tasted cinnamon. She tasted heat. She tasted Ted.

  Really. She couldn't possibly be in love with him.

  TED HAD EIGHTY DOLLARS IN HIS WALLET when he got home from the golf course late that afternoon. Gotta love those generous tippers, he thought with a smile. He'd worked damned hard today. He'd lugged heavy golf bags around as the day grew progressively warmer and muggier, made a few discreet suggestions when a duffer he was caddying for asked for the wrong club, and said, "Yes sir," and "Thank you, sir," at all the right times. He'd earned those tips, although you never knew if the "sir" you were yessing and thanking would see things the same way you did.

  But he had four reasonably crisp twenty-dollar bills stashed in his wallet now. Eighty dollars he could spend on Erika Fredell. Who liked him. Who had let him kiss her. Who was without a doubt the coolest, hottest girl he'd ever known.

  His father was outside the house as Ted walked up the driveway. He took in the scene-the bucket, the hose, the old, threadbare towels, the can of Turtle Wax. The car shining as brightly as the late afternoon sun that was mirrored in its polished surfaces. His father stooped over, wiping the sidewall of one of the tires with a damp rag.

  "Looks great," Ted said.

  His father straightened and gave him a stern look. "It's a lot of work, washing a car all by yourself."

  Ted suffered a sharp pang of guilt. "I was caddying all day," he said, apologizing even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "If you waited until tomorrow, I could've helped you." His voice drifted off. He was sure he'd told his parents he would be at the golf course all day.

  "Well." His father dried off his hands. "It got done."

  "Weren't any of the others around? Adam or josh?"

  His father shrugged. Back when Ted and his brothers and sister were young, they used to draw chores out of a bowl every Friday. You'd pick a room-if you were lucky, the living room, if you were unlucky the bathroom or the kitchen-and Saturday morning, you'd clean that room, top to bottom. Or you'd win some other chore: mowing the grass, raking the leaves, washing the car. Ted's father worked damned hard at AT&T, and his mother had her hands full fixing meals, getting everyone to a team practice or a dentist appointment or a million other places. A household with five kids, to say nothing of a barn full of animals, was chaotic. It took a lot of organizing on his parents' part to keep the family unit functioning.

  But now Ted's brothers were older, halfway out of the house. This meant less chaos, but also fewer people to help when a car needed washing.

  His younger sister could have helped wash the car, though, couldn't she?

  His father must have read his mind. "Nancy took care of the animals today," he said, gesturing toward the barn. "You never came home."

  All right. Feeding the animals in the morning was usually Ted's job. But come on. For once, couldn't he get a day off? He'd just received his high school diploma, after all. He deserved a break.

  "There was a graduation party at Jennifer's," he reminded his father, giving the word graduation some extra emphasis, just in case that important fact about Ted might have slipped the old man's mind and left him thinking Ted was still the same little boy he'd been a week ago. He was annoyed, resentful. He wanted to yell, snap back at his father, abandon the "Yes, sir" obsequiousness he'd engaged in all day.

  He would never talk back to his father, even if he was a newly minted graduate, a man, who ought to be allowed to party a little and to make some money so he could take out the girl he was crazy about. He deserved a little slack-but his father deserved his respect. Ted swallowed his indignation, even if it was big enough to choke him.

  The old man regarded him for a long minute as he dried off his hands. "So, what are you going to do, caddy for the rest of your life?"

  Ted sensed his father was talking about something other than caddying, something beyond not doing his chores. Wary, he attempted a joke. "It's a little hard to caddy in the winter."

  "You're not going to college, Ted. You'll need to find a more substantial job than toting around other people's golf clubs."

  "I've got that gas station job."

  "Gas station." His father shook his head. "You're a smart kid. You're talented. You should be doing something better than pumping gas.

  "I'm just putting college off for a year," Ted said, his anger rising back up into his throat. He tried desperately to keep it out of his voice.

  He'd already had this argument with his father, several times. His parents wanted him to go to college, and he figured he would, eventually. But he'd spent the past twelve years of his life-thirteen, if you counted kindergarten-trying to sit still in classroom after classroom, at desk after desk, studying stuff he didn't care about when all he'd wanted to do was draw and daydream and wrestle.

  He needed some time off. Lots of kids did. Taking a year off between high school and college was so common now, it had its own name. "I'm taking a gap year."

  "Right. And during this gap year, you'll do what? Caddy until it starts snowing?"

  "And work at the gas station. Or I'll find other work," he said. "You know I will."

  Another long, measuring, vaguely disappointed look from his father. "Well," he finally said, drying his hands one final time and then tossing the rag into an empty bucket. "The car's done, anyway."

  Ted nodded and strode into the house, trying to tamp down his fury. By the time he'd made it upstairs and into his bedroom, the rage burning inside him had cooled to a simmer. He sprawled out on his bed, an upper bunk just inches from the ceiling, and groaned.

  His father hadn't been that hard on him, really. Ted should have made arrangements for the animals before he'd left for Jennifer's party last night. As his parents liked to remind their children, mopping and scrubbing could wait, but the animals couldn't. They needed to be fed every day, no matter what.

  He'd have to remember to thank his sister for covering for him.

  He gazed at the pine frame of the bunk bed. Over the years, he'd carved patterns of lines into the soft wood with his thumbnail. At first they'd been random, abstract indentations, but over time he'd begun to see patterns in the scratches. He'd turned them into pictures. Cartoons. A timeline of his life.

  Now they were a touchstone, a reminder that even though he was a high school graduate he was also the kid who'd etched those designs into the wood. He stared at the lines and tried to define what he was feeling. His anger was fading, leaving behind a vacuum. Uneasiness rushed in to fill it.

  It wasn't his father he worried about. It was Erika. She was going to college. No gap year for her.

  She was smart. Scholarly. Academic. All the things he wasn't.

  You are smart, Skala, he assured himself. But he didn't have the grades to prove it or the college acceptance letter or the scholarship money. Someday, that truth was going to smack Erika between the eyes. She was going to look at him and think, Why am I with this loser who won't even be going to college?

  You're a long way from that moment, he told himself. She wouldn't be leaving for college for a couple of months. He had the whole summer to prove to her that he was smart, even if he wasn't following the expected route. He had until late August to demonstrate that college wasn't the only path to success, or that if it was he'd take that path next year.

  Or else he had until late August to discover that Erika wasn't the girl for him, after all. Just because he'd been smitten with her for more than two years didn't mean she was going to live up to his fantasies. Maybe they'd go out a few times and he'd learn that all she cared about was horses. Or that
she was mean, or selfish, or bitchy. He couldn't believe those things of her; after the more than two years he'd known her, he would have heard all the bad shit about her by now. She wouldn't be friends with girls like Laura and Allyson if she was a bitch. They wouldn't put up with that.

  She was a good person. A class act. An old soul. She would accept him for who and what he was. His father's harping about his lack of college plans couldn't undermine his confidence in himself, and in Erika. He couldn't let it.

  She'd kissed him. She knew he wasn't going to college, and she'd gone ahead and kissed him anyway. He closed his eyes, relived that moment in the backseat of Laura's car, the feel of Erika's lips touching his, and he knew that no matter what happened, no matter how they both felt about each other after they'd spent more time together, he was going to kiss her again.

  And again.

  It wasn't just the college thing. It was that she had a car and he didn't, and if he couldn't get access to his parents' car, going out with Erika meant she would do the driving.

  He knew she was more privileged than he was. His family's vacations might entail a weekend at the shore, and hers entailed flying to Colombia, South America. He caddied at the golf club; her family probably belonged to the golf club.

  But he'd phoned her between his third and fourth golf party that afternoon and asked to see her tonight and she'd said yes, so obviously none of that bothered her. And he had all that tip money burning a hole in his wallet.

  She might drive, but he would impress her. He would take her someplace classy. He'd even tuck his shirt in. If he could do that for his caddying job, he could do it for Erika Fredell.

  "The Black Horse Tavern?" She stared at him. "You really want to go there?"

  He had just climbed into her Jeep Wagoneer, after first circling it and inspecting all the stickers her father had glued onto its windows and bumpers: a Trinity College decal denoting her sister's college and dozens of USET stickers. "What's USET?" he had asked as he'd swung open the door.

  "The United States Equestrian Team," she'd told him. "My father gets a sticker at practically every horse show."