Once the seafood assault began, it lasted an inordinate length of time. To Priscilla’s amazement, they did run out of champagne before the shellfish extravaganza was over, necessitating a second bottle to be opened. By that time, she was so satiated with food and wine, she could do little more than sit and grin and laugh at Tobias’s many witty observations.
He, too, was feeling the effects of good food, good wine and affable company, and these positive elements had put him in rare form. He was more naturally charming, simpatico and astute than he could remember being in years, and he reveled in feeling that way. Priscilla was under his spell without having noticed the transition.
But just because she had been relatively simple to win over didn’t mean she was an easy touch. It wouldn’t have been as much fun for him if she had been. But as hard-hearted as she might imagine herself, Tobias had an unfair advantage. After all, how many men had she encountered who could supply killer music for her lyrics? She didn’t stand a chance, Tobias reflected happily as he sipped his bubbly.
“Do you ever see someone and all the sudden a song just pops into your head?” Priscilla asked, her guard so relaxed she was willing to reveal things about herself she’d never shared with anyone before. She was usually as guarded with her personal life as he was with his.
Still, he weighed his strategy carefully before answering. He had her at her most vulnerable right then, and he’d either have to take advantage of the situation or invest considerable time in taking the slow approach to win her heart. He looked into her eyes, dancing with mirth and mischief, and the resolve came easily.
“I do, actually,” he said, smiling conspiratorially, thinking of the lyrics she had inspired him to write. “Who do you have in mind?” Priscilla sat back, casting her eyes at one of the waiters, a small, dark man of indeterminate nationality. A smile crept across her lips, her mind already assigning a fictional life to the unsuspecting man. One glance at Tobias told her he was similarly engaged. After a moment, his eyes lifted to hers.
“You first,” she said.
“No way—it’s your game. You first.”
“But I can’t sing. Especially not in front of you.”
Tobias scoffed reproachfully. “This isn’t American Idol. I’m not going to judge your vocal talent, or lack thereof.” Priscilla conceded reluctantly, then took a moment to focus herself. In a voice just above a whisper she began:
“Armindo sighs as he does his chores
Cleaning the counters, sweeping the floors
He thinks of the time before he left home
When he left his sweetheart and went on the roam
He remembers himself as a younger man
Graceful figure, golden tan
In his arms a dark haired girl
He swings her out and gives her a twirl
He was the dancing fool of Lisbon
A regular Fred Astaire
The heartthrob of every woman
A devil without a care
One day he’ll go home to find her
The girl with the long, dark hair
With fiery eyes and lips so sweet
Waiting to be swept off her feet
He was the dancing fool of Lisbon
A regular Fred Astaire
The heartthrob of every woman
A devil without a care.”
Priscilla giggled self-consciously and took a sip of champagne. Her eyes searched Tobias’s face for his reaction to her spontaneous rhyme, but it remained inscrutably blank. Just when she became convinced she’d made of a fool of herself, his expression softened.
“Did you really just make that up?” he asked, stunned by her effortless talent.
“It was silly,” she said.
“True, but it was totally fluid.”
“I’m sure you can do better than that.”
Tobias studied her as he wracked his brain for lines equal to hers. He had been so smug in thinking he had mesmerized her with his music, yet he had forgotten what a natural gift she had. Sure, his songs had a certain gravity and style about them that put them in a class of their own, but then again, he usually had to wring those precious words from his soul one line at a time. To spout off a fully formed song from beginning to end without as much as batting an eye impressed him beyond words. He should have known better than to have taken her innocent challenge.
“Okay, your turn,” Priscilla said, relaxing against the banquette, relieved Tobias had not ridiculed her. The bar was now deserted except for them. Their waiter came to the table and topped up their glasses.
“You think he’s Portuguese?” he said, stalling. Priscilla shrugged noncommittally. “That’s interesting. All right, here goes.” Tobias took a swig of his champagne before beginning.
“A man of the world
A man with no country
A loner to some
A stranger to many
A face in the crowd
A friend to no one
A man without footsteps
A man with no name
A man with a mission
A man without shame
A man with a secret
A danger to all,” Tobias finished softly. He ended with a cheesy drum finale, feeling more bashful than he had since grade school.
Priscilla applauded. “Very good. So,” she said, leaning closer, “you think the waiter’s a terrorist?” She sat back and regarded the man with mock scrutiny. “Think we should call the authorities?”
“You’re better at that than I am,” Tobias conceded glumly.
“No way. That was very inventive. Besides, you can sing. You’re amazing,” she said, her voice full of awe.
“Oh, please,” he said dismissively. “Yours was definitely much better.”
“That’s bull. You’re just saying that to make me feel good.”
“Don’t be so modest—it doesn’t suit you,” Tobias replied coldly.
“It’s different with you,” Priscilla insisted, stung by his tone. “You can supply a tune with your lyrics, and it fit the words perfectly. All you heard of my song were the plain, unadorned words. Of course yours was better,” she concluded, feeling suddenly out of sorts.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a competition,” Tobias said, leaning against the banquette, invading her space, making it difficult for her to sulk.
“I know. I guess it solidified what’s bothered me all these years. I’ve been given half a talent. It’s like a cruel joke. What good is thousands of lyrics with no music? All they’ve served to do is remind me of their uselessness,” she said contemptuously.
“All those words you’ve written have come from pure, honest feelings. You never wrote them to please anyone else or to prove anything. Your words have a wonderful quality that allows them to stand on their own. There are more really good lyrics in your collection than I’ve ever written—ten times more,” he said, earning a dubious scowl from Priscilla.
“It’s true. Hey, if I didn’t feel that way, would I have spent time putting them to music?” he asked. Priscilla found it hard to hold onto her disappointment.
“It’s so incredible you have that kind of talent. I can’t imagine what that must be like,” she said wistfully, taking another sip from her glass, her mind drifting off. Tobias watched her as his admiration grew.
“Don’t forget there have been plenty of famous lyricists who never wrote a single note of music,” he told her. “Songwriting is often a collaborative effort. You could be working right now as a lyric writer, and there’d be plenty of musicians who’d love to put your words to music. You’ve got a real marketable talent. You’ve just never had anyone to collaborate with, until now,” he said with a wink and a nudge, finally managing to get a smile out of her.
“I need to get up. I’m getting stiff,” he said, stretching. Priscilla reached for her bag and stood up on unsteady feet.
“Uh oh, I think I’m tipsy,” she said, wobbling. Tobias stood up and joined her. “And I definitely need to find
the ladies’ room,” she whispered in his ear.
“Straight out, on your left,” he whispered back, guiding her down the hall. “I’ll meet you out here.”
She found him standing in front of the chocolatier, blissfully stuffing his mouth with chocolate confections.
“You’ve got to try this,” he said, holding one aloft, making her reach for it with her teeth. “Isn’t that sinful?”
Priscilla groaned. “Everything we’ve done today is sinful,” she said, wiping a crumb of chocolate from her lip. “Oh my God, what was that?”
“Dark chocolate truffle with a mocha center. Awesome, huh? That should put a little zoom back in your step,” he said, ushering her toward the main entrance. “What do you feel like doing now?” he asked once they were outside.
Priscilla made an unintelligible sound and wagged her head. “What’s there left to do? This has been the most extravagant day of my life,” she said, stopping to take in the sight of the hotel they’d just come out of. The look on her face was a blend of joy and astonishment.
The sight of her almost took Tobias’s breath away. “C’mon, let’s mosey down this a’way,” he drawled, affecting a bowlegged walk. Priscilla laughed and pretended not to know him as they merged into the flow of pedestrians. They had barely reached the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue when Tobias halted abruptly in front of Bergdorf-Goodman.
“Ever shop here?” he asked.
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s fun. Let’s check it out,” he said, holding the door open for her. For a good long moment, it looked like she was rooted to the sidewalk. “Come on, no one’s going to bite you,” he chided her, dragging her by the wrist.
What she saw inside dazzled her. It was more crowded with merchandise than she had expected, and it had a quite lively air, as shoppers of various descriptions examined this, fondled that. Tobias evidently knew his way around, so Priscilla stayed close on his heels, bumping into him as he stopped abruptly in ladies’ hats.
“Here, try this one on for size,” he said facetiously, holding up a hat that would have bowed the neck of a Vegas showgirl.
“Ah…I don’t think so,” Priscilla replied, deftly sidestepping his effort to place it on her head. “This is more like it,” she said, donning a black wide-brimmed hat. She checked its effect in the mirror and removed it immediately. Definitely not her. Tobias offered her another one, which she tried and dismissed.
“I guess I’m really not a hat person,” she said, placing the third candidate back on the rack.
“Me neither,” Tobias said.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Priscilla said, the remark directed to his ever-present baseball cap.
“Well, it’s not like I want to wear this,” he said defensively. Priscilla chuckled and fell in step beside him as they meandered toward the next department.
“Oh my God!” she cried, frantically looking back in the direction they’d come from.
“What is it?” Tobias asked. Priscilla darted off before he got the words out. She snatched her bag from the floor where she had left it. Relief made her weak in the knees.
“That was a close call,” she said, clutching her bag to her chest.
“Here, let me carry that for you,” he said, taking it from her. “Jesus, what do you have in here?” he asked, slinging the small pack over his shoulder.
“All my worldly possessions,” she replied, nervously eyeing her bag. Tobias looked at her like she had to be joking.
“Everything you own is in this one bag?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, including all my money,” she said. Tobias knew immediately what money she was referring to. He hitched the bag tighter to his shoulder. After a moment, he asked, “All your clothes are in here, too?” Priscilla laughed.
“Yeah, what’s left of them. I left a lot of stuff behind in the hotel I’ve been staying at the last few nights.”
“Why?”
“I was just sick of it all,” she said, her attention straying to a jewelry case they were passing. “I was actually on my way to buy a bunch of new stuff when I ran into you. Summery things I could wear in Florida.”
“Good thing I ran into you when I did,” Tobias commented dryly. Priscilla snorted at the implication. “Let’s go get you some new stuff now,” he suggested, leading her toward the escalator.
“I’m not going to buy anything here,” she said, alarmed by the thought of what that would set her back.
“Why not? They’ve got some nice stuff.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Priscilla murmured in his ear, as they rode the escalator single file. “This place is not exactly in my price range.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll make it my treat,” he said cavalierly, heading purposely for the nearest rack. Within minutes, Tobias had sent an armload of dresses to the dressing room for Priscilla to try on.
“Okay, that’s probably enough to get you started,” he said, indicating she should follow the salesgirl. “I’ll be right over here,” he told her, pointing to a plush loveseat. Priscilla obediently followed the pretty young woman.
Once alone, she stared at the assemblage of finery Tobias had picked out for her. She looked at each piece as if she had no idea what to do with it. There were six dresses in all: filmy silk chiffon numbers with floating tatters or an irregular hemline, a couple of cotton sundresses of surprisingly demure cuts, a sleeveless linen dress with a pleated skirt, and a slinky black thing, apparently meant to be worn at night.
Priscilla sat down, unable to bring herself to get undressed. What am I doing here? she thought. These things were not for her. These were dresses for women who had lunch in small French restaurants, who carried miniature dogs no bigger than an evening bag, and had names like Buffy or Min. She would look absolutely ridiculous in any one of these things.
She was about to abandon ship, when she felt a pang of guilt. It would be rude to say no to the lot of them without having tried anything on. She reached for one of the silk dresses, catching a look at the price tag.
“Fourteen hundred bucks for this?!” she cried under her breath. She put it right back on the hook and grabbed one of the cotton sheaths. “Eighteen hundred! That’s outrageous! It’s a simple cotton dress,” she muttered, disgustedly checking each price tag. There wasn’t a dress in the bunch for less than $950.
Priscilla stood back, uncertain what to do. There was no way in hell she was going to let Tobias shell out that kind of cash for one trendy dress. She objected to the idea on principle alone.
Plus, she didn’t want to feel any more beholden to him than she already did. It was bad enough he knew all her future plans had been made possible by his check for fifteen grand. There was no way she was going to let him dress her in high-society rags so she could follow him around like some sort of charity specimen.
She left the dresses where they hung and barged out of the dressing room, running into the salesgirl in her haste to escape.
“Did nothing work out?” she inquired, dismayed by Priscilla’s empty hands.
“Uh…no. I didn’t like the way they looked on,” Priscilla claimed with blasé disappointment, pushing past her. Tobias saw her coming and stood, the smile of anticipation fading as she got closer.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as she came to a halt in front of him.
“Can we just get out of here? I’m not really in the mood to try on clothes right now.”
“No problem.”
“I just feel really tired all of a sudden.”
“Let’s go. We can go crash for a couple of hours and then try it again, if you want,” he suggested.
“You know, I really should go catch the train to Florida,” she said, her eyes straying away from Tobias’s.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice edging toward shrill. “You’re not going to Florida tonight…”
“That was always the plan,” Priscilla said, still not wanting to meet his gaze.
“The plan’s been changed,
remember?” She shifted nervously and finally turned to look him straight in the eye.
“You don’t want to go and sit on a train for what—a day and a half—do you? Come on, let’s go back to my hotel and get a little rest. We can go through all your options later, after you’ve had time to recuperate. You’re just feeling a sugar crash, that’s all,” he said plaintively, trying to get a nod of acquiescence out of her.
Priscilla let out a long sigh and abandoned her plans of leaving town yet again. Tobias took her by the elbow and tried to usher her toward the escalator.
“I don’t like the idea of crashing in your hotel room,” she said, stalling their progress.
“It’s not a room, it’s a suite,” Tobias corrected her. “It’s got three large bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms. You might as well take advantage of it. We can work it so we don’t even run into each other, if it’ll make you feel better. C’mon.”
Priscilla faltered while she reviewed her situation. What were her options? Slug her way over to Penn Station and board a southbound train, an idea she wasn’t altogether sure of anymore; or go rest in the reclusive rocker’s hotel suite and then figure out what to do next. Not much debate needed to settle that decision.
“Lead the way,” she said.
Thirty-Three
Philip watched his sleeping daughter from the doorway before turning out the light. He closed her door, leaving it open enough so he could hear her if she called out, and crept softly down the hallway. There was one floor lamp on and he turned it off. He was in a black mood, so it was only fitting for him to sit in the dark.
He felt the urge for a drink—a large one—but he didn’t possess the required initiative to go over and pour himself one. Instead, he lowered his weary body into the low-slung chair and sat and stared at nothing.
“I’m such a damned fool,” he said into the darkness. Ever since Caitlin had innocently disclosed the deceitful behavior of his almost ex-wife and his rat-fink attorney, Philip had been able to think of little else. He had vacillated back and forth between wanting to believe there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for Martin driving Marianne to the airport and wanting to wring both their necks. At the moment, he was as disgusted with himself as he was with either of them. And just when life was starting to make sense again…
Alligators in the Trees Page 39