by Casey Dawes
As she drove to Princeton, she mulled over her upcoming dinner with Mark. I’d rather have a bath with a book and a glass of wine. But, she’d made a promise and she’d keep it. Besides, he probably knew a place with good food. He’d been an okay companion the night before, not all over her like Conrad. I’ll enjoy myself.
By the time she changed into an azure-blue silk blouse and black skirt and freshened her makeup, she’d begun to feel better.
When she walked into the hotel lobby, Mark stood up to greet her. Dressed in a tailored dark blue blazer and slacks, he looked more like a Wall Street investment banker than the history professor he was. His silver hair was neatly combed and he was freshly shaved. He took her hand with both of his and shook it warmly.
“There’re some great restaurants nearby. I hope you like Italian,” he said.
“One of my favorites.”
“Let’s go, then,” he said, motioning toward the hotel door and letting her lead the way. Once they were outside, he put his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the right. She tensed at the gesture. Why is it men always feel they have the right to touch? Relax. He’s only old-fashioned. It was the cool night air whisking under her thin raincoat that was making her shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “I forgot that you were from California. Your blood isn’t used to this. It’s only a short walk and it will do you good to get some fresh air and exercise after a long day at the office. Spring nights in Princeton are too pretty to waste in a car.”
He looked down at her and smiled. Automatically, she smiled back. I suppose he’s being nice, but I wish he didn’t always mention exercise.
You’re being over-sensitive, her mother’s voice intoned. You always were too sensitive about how you looked.
Maybe it’s because everyone always harped on it.
We were only trying to help. We wanted you to look your best, being a girl and all that.
“Chilly?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ll get used to the temperature.”
“How was your day?”
“Tiring. There was a lot to wrap my head around. I’m not even sure — ”
“I had a tough day, too,” he interrupted. “Sometimes I think the kids are in high school, not college. They force me to teach one section of history for dummies. I hate it. If I’d made dean last year, I wouldn’t have to put up with this crap.
“Imagine,” he continued. “There was a kid today who didn’t even know the first sentence of the Declaration of Independence. I mean, how could you forget, ‘When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them with another …’”
Annie wondered if he was going to recite the whole thing.
Mercifully, he stopped quoting the Declaration after the first line. As they closed the remaining distance to the restaurant, he regaled her with stories about his revolutionary ancestor, Francis Hopkinson, who’d signed the Declaration of Independence.
At least I don’t have to think about anything to say.
The restaurant fit right into the 1700s scene that Mark had woven: darkly stained pine tables decorated with candles flickering behind hurricane lamps, electric wall sconces softly glowing, and heavy forest green homespun curtains. It was authentic, dark, and small. Everything was impeccable. Annie began to relax — it was going to be a lovely dinner.
“Bet you don’t have anything like this in California.”
“No, not really. That’s the fun of travel, seeing different places, especially older ones like this. In fact, if I look closely, I can almost see your relative over in that corner.”
The host arrived to show them to their table.
“Since you like Italian, you’ll really like the food here,” he said when they were seated. “The chef is from New York. He graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park. I don’t know how the restaurant snagged him, but they must have made him a really good offer. The prices certainly reflect it.”
He chuckled and she forced a smile. Both her dad and Fred had always commented on restaurant prices. It was a covert signal that either someone else should pay, or payment of another kind would be extracted later. Stop it! You’re over-reacting. He’s a nice man taking me out to dinner. Nothing threatening about that … is there?
“I’m on an expense account,” she said. “I can pay for my own meal.”
“And have my mother turning over in her grave?” he said. “Perish the thought. I can certainly afford it.”
She gave him a quick smile as she picked up her menu. Based on his recommendation, she ordered penne with salmon and vodka sauce, preceded by a baby green salad, while he chose a heartier chicken Alfredo. He selected a Pouilly-Fuissé from the wine list.
“You seem to know your wines,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “I enjoy picking the right varietal for the meal. I’m something of a connoisseur, more of French wines than your California stuff, of course.”
“Of course.”
“In fact,” he continued, oblivious to the slight sarcasm in her voice. “I often use stories about European wine when I teach history. Did you know that some French winemakers risked their lives to protect their wine in World War II?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s fascinating how the Germans and French lied, cheated, and stole from each other during the war. Some French winemakers sprinkled carpet dust into their wines before they bottled it. Made it seem like fine aged wine when it was swill made with their worst grapes!” He laughed. When she didn’t join in, he gave her a pointed look. She quickly gave a brief chuckle, even though she couldn’t see the humor. But her father and Fred had trained her well. Going along made a man happy and happy men weren’t dangerous.
He continued. “I was going to write a book about it, but some wannabe historians beat me to it. Wine journalists. How they ever had the gall to write a history book, I’ll never know. I’d have written a far better book than they did. Let me tell you how I would have done it differently.”
The long explanation was interrupted by the delivery of their food and the ritual of serving the wine. Mark made a great show of sniffing the cork, examining the label, swirling, smelling, sipping the wine, and giving the waiter a curt nod when he was done.
“This is wonderful,” she said after tasting the amber liquid.
He swirled the golden wine around, stuck his nose below the rim of the glass and drank slowly. “Nice balance of acidity and fruit,” he said after he swallowed. He held the glass up to the candle light and murmured, “Perfect.”
Eating occupied the next ten minutes. Fortunately.
“You’re very pretty,” he said, putting his fork down. “And you have the most unusual eyes. What color are they, hazel?”
“Yes. Sometimes they’re … ”
“You’re a wonderful listener.” He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been told I talk too much, but I get caught up in the story, and want to share it all, especially with an attractive woman.” He put his hand on top of hers.
She gave a slight shiver at the same time she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“I’m serious. We can have a marvelous time together when you move here … and get to know each other better.” He caressed the top of her hand, but she didn’t move.
She knew the dread in the pit of her stomach. She’d felt it every time her father came home from work, impeccably dressed, his drunkenness revealed by his precise movements and slight slur in his speech. She’d learned to pick up the clues to her father’s moods quickly, mimicking her mother’s soft speech. In reality, it only kept them safe for a while, but the habits were deeply ingrained.
That’s what her intuition was trying to tell her. He was another man
who looked good, but he had a rotten core. She needed to get through this dinner safely and never see him again.
The waiter replaced the cleared dishes with dessert menus. Annie took the opportunity to move her hand back to her lap.
“They make the best tiramisu here,” he said. “You must have some.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m satisfied. It’s been a long day and I need to get back to the hotel.”
Mark put up his hand. “Two tiramisus.”
“Very good, sir,” said the waiter.
“But … ” she protested.
“I know best.”
She let it go. She would do what it took to keep him content, at least until she got back to the safety of the hotel lobby. I can push it around my plate.
After the waiter set their desserts on the table, she took a small bite and then put her fork by her plate. It was all she wanted.
“That’s all you’re having?” he asked. “You must finish it. It’s the perfect ending to the perfect meal.” He covered her hand with his. She slipped her hand away and picked up her fork to finish her dessert like an obedient child. No use causing a fuss in the restaurant.
The meal finally finished, they began the walk back to the hotel. The temperature had dropped and she shivered from the cold.
He moved closer. “Do you mind?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before he slipped his arm around her waist.
Chapter 10
Annie almost pulled away, but the street was dark. She decided to go along for a little while longer. It wasn’t far to the hotel and she could dump him in the lobby.
They were almost there when Mark stopped next to the long brick wall bordering the Princeton campus. His hand slid from around her waist to her arm and he turned her toward him.
He was too close. Annie took a step backward, pressing her back against the rough-hewn brick.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said, running his right hand down her other arm. “You’re special. That ex-husband of yours was a fool to let you go. When will you be coming back to New Jersey to stay?”
He took a step closer, trapping her. Talk. Ask questions. Men like him always like to talk about themselves. What had he’d asked?
“I leave tomorrow for San Francisco,” she said, the citrus smell of his cologne turning her stomach. “When I come back depends on whether or not Jim offers me the job.”
“Of course he’ll offer it. You’re a really smart lady. I can’t wait until you get back. There are so many things I can show you. I’ll treat you like a queen.”
He moved closer. “We’ll be great together,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.
At the last moment she turned her head and his mouth landed on her cheek.
“Well, that didn’t turn out right,” he said. “Let’s try again.” He leaned down again, his breath hot on her face, the sweet scent of wine entwined with the sharp odor of the mint he’d chewed after dinner.
“Let’s not.”
She blocked him with her hand, pushing him far enough away so she could duck under his arm and walked rapidly toward her hotel, heels clicking loudly in the soft spring night. Could she make it to the bright lobby lights?
He caught up with her and tried to reclaim her elbow. She shook his hand off and walked faster, finally reaching the lobby. Mark trailed behind.
Once inside, she turned toward him. “Thank you again for a very nice evening.”
Mark ignored her. “I’d like to have your phone number in California.”
Annie took out a business card and handed it to him. She could get the company to block his calls.
“I don’t want your business number. I want to be able to call you at home,” he said and gave her a slim pen from his shirt pocket.
“You can get me here,” Annie said, gesturing with the card.
“I want to have your home phone. Annie. Don’t be so difficult. What are you afraid of?”
You.
He put up his hands. “I planned a lovely evening at an expensive restaurant. I thought you’d appreciate it. Apparently I was wrong.” His voice grew louder.
“No, no,” she said. She needed to calm him down and get him out of there. “I had a lovely evening, too. Don’t be upset. I don’t like to give out my home number to anyone. Single mother, you know.” She scribbled a number on the back of her business card, a number that bore no resemblance to her home number. She silently said her apologies to whoever got Mark’s call.
“Here you go.” She handed him the card.
“You won’t regret it,” he said, leaning forward.
Oh, God, is he going to try to kiss me again? She stepped back, glancing at the front desk. A staff member saw her look and came around the desk to walk toward them.
“Annie,” Mark said. “It’s only a kiss.”
“I don’t want to be kissed.” At least, not by you.
“Is there a problem?” the staffer asked her.
Mark looked down at the clerk. “No. I was only saying good night to the lady.”
“Good night,” Annie said.
“Good night.”
In her mind, she imagined the click of his heels as he turned and walked out the door. “Thanks,” she said to the hotel clerk.
“We don’t allow our guests to be harassed,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Have a nice night.”
“Uh-huh.” Annie was grateful, but her mind was already on a tub full of hot water and bubbles. An hour later, she called Elizabeth.
Her friend picked up on the fourth ring. “Sorry I missed you last night. I had to run some errands. How did the manager’s dinner go over last night? Were they wowed by the dress?”
“A little too wowed. There was an older guy — probably missed the memo on sexual harassment. Unfortunately, he was also a corporate director and politically connected.”
“What’d he do?”
“He touched me … constantly. Everything was ‘accidental,’ so I couldn’t say anything. But after a while it was too much to take and I did something I’ll probably regret.”
“What?” Elizabeth’s voice rose in excitement.
“I stilettoed him with my spiked heel.”
Her friend burst out laughing. In a moment, Annie joined her, Conrad’s astonished face clearly etched in her memory.
“I shouldn’t be laughing,” Annie said when she finally calmed down enough to breathe. “He wasn’t pleased.”
“Annie, can you do the job?”
“Of course I can. It’s impossible. No budget, no staff, and a short deadline.”
“Right up your alley. Then you’ll get the job.”
“I wish I was sure. But I also wish I could find a politically correct way to make men like Conrad keep their hands off me.”
“Can you talk to someone?”
Annie’s laugh was bitter. “No. Men like Conrad know exactly where the line is. They’re high enough in the organization that they’re protected. Fortunately, they’re a dying breed. Younger men have been indoctrinated.”
“What about your dinner date? Did that go better?”
“Not really.”
“Oh. Don’t they have any nice men in New Jersey?”
“I’m sure they do. Actually, dinner was fine. Mark likes to talk too much, but the restaurant was classy and the food was amazing.”
“Did you stiletto him, too?”
“No, I shoved him.”
“Annie, you really need to find a gentler way to say, ‘No,’” Elizabeth said, her voice kind.
“I’m not sure I know how. I try to be nice and then all of a sudden it gets to be too much and I do something rash.”
“Do yo
u try something other than saying nothing and bashing them over the head?”
Annie laughed and then quieted as she thought about the question. “I think I do. I know I did with Fred and he never heard me until after I left.”
“Maybe you need to find a better man.”
“I sure know how to pick them, don’t I?”
“I don’t know. John seems nice.”
“He does, doesn’t he? I wish it were an option, but I can’t risk losing my job if I stay in California. And I certainly don’t want to get involved with a man hoping he’ll support me. That’s not fair to him. Besides, there’s always a price to pay for being dependent.”
“There’s also a price to pay for being too independent.”
“Then why won’t you marry Bobby?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Touché! Would you like to talk to David?”
“Nice change of subject, but I’ll let you get away with it this time.”
David sounded upbeat. He’d made, in his words, an “awesome save” during his soccer game and led his team to victory. The mercurial moods of teenagers — you never know what you’ll get.
It was so much easier when David was talkative. All too often these days their exchanges were a few short words said in passing when they weren’t arguing about school, homework or chores. His excitement over the save reminded her of the wide-eyed little boy he’d been, bringing home bugs, toads, and the occasional snake.
“I’ll be home tomorrow night,” she said, wrapping up the conversation. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too.”
After she hung up the phone, Annie trolled through her purse to find Carol Eos’s business card. She pulled it out, threw on some clothes, and headed for the lobby computer.
• • •
Annie spent her time the next morning interviewing reluctant managers and time-pressed engineers to understand what she’d need to do to make the project successful. By the time she met with her potential boss to discuss the project, she was prepared.