A Love for All Seasons

by Bettye Griffin

  Jack finished his finger food and moved toward the kitchen, where he tossed the plate in the white plastic trash bin. He turned to see Alicia brush past him, watching with unabashed interest as she lifted a bag of ice from the sink and filled the brass ice bucket.

  Possibly feeling his eyes on her, she looked up and smiled at him. “Finding everything all right?”

  “Yes, I am, thank you.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” she offered as she approached where he stood.

  “Yes, I’d like that. What do you have?”

  “Just the basics. Wine, beer, soda, and the drink of the evening, which, by popular demand, is a Kamikaze. It’s in the pitcher.” She noted his surprised expression. “I’m afraid I’m a no-fuss hostess. I find that if I fix just one cocktail I can mix it up in advance and not have to worry about constantly replenishing this liquor or that mixer.” With a boldness that came from nowhere, she raised her lips toward his ear and lowered her voice. “Confidentially, when the drinks are pre-mixed as opposed to letting guests fix their own, the liquor goes a lot further.”

  He liked having her stand so close to him. How nice it would be to imagine her whispering something much more intimate than what she’d just shared with him. He felt his arousal form and kept his voice even. “I imagine it would. And I think that’s very wise.”

  She took a deep breath. Somehow—she didn’t know why—it mattered that Jack Devlin thought well of her.

  “Would you believe I’ve never had a Kamikaze? I don’t even know what’s in it.”

  “It’s pretty simple. Vodka, triple sec and lime juice, all in equal parts.” She hoped she wasn’t talking too much, but he did ask. From the moment she saw Jack Devlin standing outside her door she felt ill at ease, like she didn’t belong in her own skin.

  All Alicia’s friends admired her hostess skills. They said she always knew the right thing to say, even to complete strangers. But something about this particular stranger made her nervous as a flickering flame. What could it be?

  Surely not his looks, which were undeniably well above average, but hardly extraordinary in a city where a woman could barely walk down a city block without passing someone who looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Jack had a nice rugged look about him, which she preferred over the pretty boys, with a medium brown complexion, sturdy build, perhaps four or five inches taller than her own five-seven, and close cropped haircut, brushed forward, framing expressive brown eyes. Unlike many African-American men, he was clean shaven, and she thought she spotted a smattering of gray at his hairline and in his sideburns. He was quite attractive, but she saw good-looking men all the time and conversed with them without her tongue feeling too big for her mouth, so that clearly wasn’t the reason for her unease. Her hands with their manicured fingernails felt awkward. As she picked up the tongs that rested on the ice bucket, it relieved her to have something to do.

  To her embarrassment, Alicia had difficulty grasping ice with the tongs; the cubes kept falling out. She laughed to cover her nervousness as she tried repeatedly.

  “Why don’t you let me do that?” he offered.

  Finally she managed to hold the cubes long enough to drop them into a highball glass. “No, that’s all right. I’ve got it, Dev.” She gasped. Where had that come from? She’d just overlooked his first name and shortened his surname, and she hardly knew him well enough to be giving him a nickname.

  Or did she? Could that be it? Had she met Jack Devlin at some time in the past? When? And if she had, why didn’t she remember?

  Jack grinned. No one had ever called him “Dev” before. He didn’t know how he would feel if it came from anyone else, but coming from Alicia Timberlake he liked it. It gave the impression that he was special to her. A ridiculous notion for someone he’d just met, to be sure, but an appealing one nonetheless. He’d like to be special to her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what made me say that.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  She handed him the glass and managed to get ice cubes into a glass for herself. Maybe if she had a Kamikaze instead of ice water it would help her nerves.

  “So,” she said, careful not to call him by name lest she use the wrong one, “how does New York compare with Birmingham?”

  “Actually, they’re not all that different. I mean, Birmingham is a city. We have tall buildings downtown, just like any other city. And every place has the same services. Restaurants, bars, book stores, dry cleaners, McDonald’s. I’ve also lived in Galveston and Houston.” He shrugged. “I guess you can say I move around a lot.”

  “Have you been to New York before? You look familiar to me somehow.” If she could just figure out where she’d seen him it would all come back to her, and she could deal with it…whatever it was.

  “Uh…I was here the second week of June.” He didn’t know if he should confess that he remembered seeing her then, not when she so obviously didn’t notice him. In an instant he made up his mind. “I did see you during that visit, but just in passing, up at that Cuban restaurant here on the Upper West Side.” He now knew enough about Manhattan geography to pinpoint the section of the city he had eaten in that day, which wasn’t far from Alicia’s apartment. “You came in as I was leaving. I held the door for you and cast you an admiring look, but I really didn’t know you were coming to join Pete and Rhonda.” Again he chuckled. “Although I don’t know why I didn’t figure that out, since the size of our little group had already doubled.”

  She looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid I don’t remember. I was in a rush that day, trying to catch Rhonda before she left.”

  “I didn’t expect you to remember me. But that’s the only time I saw you. Believe me, I would never forget you.”

  Warmth spread to her nose and cheeks, and she didn’t even try to hide her pleasure. “Well, thank you. But I was thinking in terms of something more than just passing by. I—” She broke off, realizing it wouldn’t do to tell him that his presence unnerved her, but it did. She raised the highball glass to her lips and took a sip. Anything to steady her shaking hands.

  “Alicia, the pitcher of Kamikaze is running low. Can I help you mix some more?” her friend Jenny offered.

  “Oh, no thanks, I’ll take care of it.” She turned to Jack, glad to have an excuse to get away from him. Being around him was simply too unsettling. Her stomach continued to behave like a contestant in an Olympics gymnastic competition, running and flipping all over the place. She couldn’t take much more of this. “Excuse me.”

  As she hurried toward the kitchen she said a silent prayer of thanks that the Kamikaze drink continued to be so popular among her guests. Mixing up a fresh batch gave her the perfect excuse to get away from Jack Devlin.

  She concentrated on his name as she carefully measured the three ingredients. Jack Devlin, Jack Devlin. Where had she seen him before? And what had transpired between them? It had to be something major, or else she wouldn’t be acting like such a fool. But why couldn’t she remember? And why didn’t he?

  She stirred the liquors and lime juice together in the tall martini pitcher. “Here, I’ll take that,” Pete Robinson said with a laugh.

  “Ready for a refill, are you, Pete?” she said knowingly as she handed him the pitcher. She smiled as he immediately filled his glass.

  Alicia’s preference would have been to stay away from Jack Devlin until she identified their past history, but she knew that made for a poor hostess. Her friends brought him to her party because he didn’t know anyone in town. The least she could do was introduce him around.

  She found him standing with his plate near the buffet table, exchanging a few words of small talk with her old friend Derek Taylor. “Have you two met each other?” she inquired.

  “Not really,” Jack said. He wiped his right hand on a napkin and held it out. “Jack Devlin.”

  “Derek Taylor.”

  “Jack’s a good friend of Pete and Rhonda,” Alicia explained as the two men sho
ok hands. “He just moved to New York from Alabama.”

  Derek grinned. “A little faster paced than what you’re used to, huh?”

  Alicia tried not to glare at him. Derek was one of her closest friends, but she didn’t like the smugness in his tone that suggested Jack was some kind of country bumpkin. Birmingham was one of the largest cities in the Deep South, and only New York, L.A., and Chicago boasted of larger populations than Houston.

  But Jack didn’t seem to mind, nor did he elaborate on his background. “A little too fast for me, actually,” he admitted. “I work in midtown, but when it came time to find a place to live I decided to get a place up in Stamford.”

  Derek nodded. “Nice town.” He then turned to someone walking past and began a conversation with them.

  Alicia smiled at Jack, thankful for the drink in her hand and the calming effect of the alcohol. She had a nice warm feeling that started in her belly and branched out to the rest of her. “Have you met many people here?”

  “Probably not by name, but everyone’s very friendly.”

  “Shame on Pete for leaving you on your own. Here, let me take you around.” She slipped her arm through his, telling herself he was just another friend of a friend, and that she had no need to feel nervous as she tried to make him comfortable. And thank heavens for the thick fabric of her sweater and for the blazer he wore. Her gesture seemed less personal with no skin-to-skin contact.

  She led him to the nearest person, who stood at the buffet fixing a plate. “Jenny Walters, this is—” she stopped momentarily to make sure she said his name correctly “—Jack Devlin.” She stood by as Jack and Jenny greeted each other.

  They moved on, and he said, “You know, you really don’t have to do this. But I must admit I like having you on my arm.”

  A wave of pleasure swept over her. Damn her memory for failing her. She felt certain that Jack Devlin was somehow linked to her past, but had absolutely no recollection of any other details. She’d never been to Birmingham, nor had she ever traveled to either of the other two Southern cities he mentioned as former residences. But from the way he affected her, she suspected that whatever happened between them had significance.

  She raised her glass to her mouth and took another gulp. Funny, but since she’d started drinking this Kamikaze, the missing link between her and Jack didn’t seem to matter as much. If Jack didn’t remember her other than that one quick glimpse at the restaurant last spring, maybe she shouldn’t worry about not remembering him.

  “I want you to find New Yorkers friendly and outgoing,” she said warmly. “I can’t have you calling home and reporting that we’re just as callous as the press makes us out to be.”

  Eventually they had covered the twenty or so people now in the apartment, including Pete, who spoke with another couple, and Rhonda, who they encountered in the kitchenette with another female guest, Alicia suspected indulging in gossip.

  “I’m so sorry, Jack,” Rhonda said. “I guess Pete and I should have taken you through the room instead of leaving it up to Alicia.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” she said graciously. “By now Dev and I are old friends.” She gasped, then looked at him in distress. “I did it again. Why do I keep calling you that?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you already know someone named Jack that you don’t like very much?”

  What is this, Freud? she thought, instantly dismissing his theory. But to scoff at his suggestion would be rude, so she merely said, “Maybe, although no one I can think of. Excuse me.”

  At the bar Alicia poured herself another Kamikaze. She’d probably spent enough time in the company of Jack Devlin, who seemed to bring out the very worst in her. Instead she’d better relax and enjoy her other friends, some of whom she hadn’t seen in many weeks. Her mother’s heart disease had worsened in recent months to the point where she was now largely bedridden. Alicia had been spending evenings with her in Connecticut, commuting by train into the city. Now that her mother had stabilized, Alicia felt it safe enough to spend one evening in her apartment. Tomorrow she would grab a train north and spend the remainder of the weekend at her mother’s bedside.

  The appearance of Jack Devlin—the stranger who somehow didn’t seem like a stranger—unnerved her to the point where she couldn’t really relax. Maybe if she knew where she’d met him or what suppressed memories she had of him, she could better cope with the situation. But nothing came to her, which she found terribly frustrating, in spite of her attempts not to be concerned about it.

  She sipped on her drink. Funny, she’d never been much of a drinker, but tonight she drank like the answer to her questions could be found at the bottom of a bottle of triple sec.

  She knew the reason for her atypical behavior stood just a few feet away, talking with her other guests.

  Chapter 3

  I Don’t Want To Spoil the Party

  By ten o’clock, when the guests started leaving, Alicia sensed she had put away one Kamikaze too many, courtesy of an odd weightless feeling she knew hadn’t come from anything on the buffet table.

  “Alicia, dear, it was a lovely party,” Rhonda said. “But then again, you always entertain so effortlessly. I don’t know how you do it. I’ll bet you put in a full day at work today.”

  “I left at three.”

  Rhonda turned to Jack. “Can you believe that? She worked practically the whole day and still manages to put on a great party. She ought to write a how-to book. Whenever Pete and I have people over I’m always still in the kitchen when the guests arrive, even if I’ve had all day to prepare.”

  “Nuttin’ to it.”

  Rhonda looked at her strangely. “Alicia, are you all right? You sound a little tipsy.”

  “Ahm awright.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, and what the hell happened to her enunciation?

  “Whoa!” Pete said. “Since when do you get a buzz on?”

  Even through the alcohol-induced fuzziness, Alicia felt Jack’s intense gaze. She made a special effort to form her words distinctly. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Pete, why don’t you and I stick around and help Alicia put the food away?” Rhonda suggested.

  Jack turned to look at the buffet, where only a few stray hors d’oeuvres remained. “I don’t think it’ll take more than a minute or two to put what’s left in the fridge. A walk would probably do her the most good.”

  “Yeah, a nice li’l walk. Iz awfully hot in here.” Alicia stuck an index finger inside the top of her sweater and fanned it away from her collarbone.

  Rhonda yawned loudly. “Excuse me. I guess we can manage to walk around the block.”

  “If that yawn is any indication, Rhonda, I think you need to get home,” Jack said. “You’re both exhausted. I’ll make sure Alicia gets some air and gets back home safely.”

  “Jack, you’ve got to be just as tired as we are,” Pete pointed out. “Didn’t you drive in from Stamford?”

  “No, when you said it would be an early night I decided to take the train in, so I don’t have to drive home.”

  “Well, I do feel a responsibility for Alicia,” Rhonda said. “She’s a good friend to us, but you just met her tonight, Jack.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll enjoy taking a walk before going to the train station.”

  “She’ll be safe with Jack, Rhonda,” Pete said.

  Rhonda nodded. “All right. Just give me a minute to clean up a little.” She stood on tiptoe and pulled a small container off the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. “I don’t want to leave her with even a little mess. I’ve got a feeling she’s not going to feel so good in the morning.”

  “I’ll help you,” Pete said. “But Jack, I see no reason to hold you up. The sooner you get her outside, the better. We’ll lock the door behind us when we leave. We can’t latch it without a key, but it should be all right for the short time you two will be out walking.”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said. He turned to Alicia. “Get your jacket. We’re
going to clear your head. And don’t forget your keys.”

  In the end it took Alicia more than a few minutes to locate her keys, and Pete and Rhonda had finished straightening up and were ready to leave at the same time. “I’m worried,” Rhonda said as they slowly descended the stairs, Jack holding one of Alicia’s arms and Pete the other. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  “She never drinks,” Pete added. “I tease her about it all the time. I don’t understand why she overdid it tonight.”

  “Will you two stop talkin’ ’bout me like I’m invithible?” Alicia said with a scowl.

  “It’s just that we’re worried about you, dear,” Rhonda said, placing a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. “We want Jack to understand how out of character this is for you.”

  Alicia closed her eyes. Jack, she thought, is the problem. Fortunately for her, she had enough control over her faculties not to express that thought aloud.

  The entrance to the subway was just a half block from Alicia’s front door. They bid goodnight to Pete and Rhonda, with Rhonda extracting a promise from Alicia to call her in the morning. After the Robinsons disappeared into the hole in the ground, Jack gallantly offered Alicia his arm, and by unspoken agreement they headed down Broadway. At this hour the avenue still had heavy southbound traffic. Neon lights of bars shone brightly in the night, and every available parking space was filled by a vehicle.

  They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, Alicia’s trench coat billowing in the breeze, before Jack remarked, “The city is nicer at this time of year than it is in the summer, isn’t it?”

  She laughed. “Oh, iz nice in the summer, too, but it can get awfully hot. Few things are more insuff…insuffra…worse than an un-air conditioned subway train in August.”