Save the Best for Last

by Bettye Griffin

  He imagined her putting on something slinky and provocative to sleep in, or better yet, nothing at all.

  His erection twitched in reaction to the thought of Jenny completely naked, but the moment passed, and his thoughts returned to that unknown Barry character whom she insisted wasn’t her boyfriend. He’d decided not to press her about it, although he still found it puzzling. But he’d accepted Jenny’s condition that their personal lives would remain their own, for the sake of getting his tuition paid.

  He turned on his side, punched the pillow, and laid his head down.

  Chapter 18

  Dexter walked into the bar and grill on Second Avenue, just a block from his job at the medical examiner’s office. Jenny was already there, sitting at the bar with a glass of wine. She turned, perhaps sensing his approach, and he didn’t bother to hide his admiration. He could tell by the light gray suit and white dotted Swiss blouse she wore that she’d been meeting with a client. She’d brushed her hair and pinned it sedately back as usual, which would keep it from wilting in the sudden burst of summer heat in mid October known as Indian summer. She wore small textured gold hoop earrings, and her throat looked so smooth and graceful. He remembered how he’d nibbled at it that night in Baltimore after they exchanged marriage vows.

  She hadn’t elaborated when she called and said she had to see him. He figured the INS had contacted her. That would account for the urgency in her voice, but he wasn’t upset. They’d both known it was coming. In the meantime he was glad for the opportunity to see her, for any reason. It had been about a month since they were last together, and while he’d accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be a part of her life, he nevertheless continued to think of her often. He felt encouraged when she smiled at him. Could it be that she’d missed him, too?

  But it was a worried smile. He sat on the stool next to her and took her hand. “Jenny, what’s wrong?”

  “Thanks for meeting me. I didn’t know what to do.” She took a deep breath. “Cesca’s having some people over for drinks after work on Friday. She wants us to come.”

  “From the doom and gloom way you sound, you’d think she was having a party and didn’t invite you. What’s the problem?”

  “She wants you to bring a few of your friends.”

  “I can understand that. A few new faces are always a good thing in a social setting. And I understand that women are hot for medical professionals. Even if we’re just lab techs. When we get to talking our jargon, anyone would think we were from the CDC.”

  She found his matter-of-factness infuriating, but her curiosity won out. “Is that why you decided to become a doctor? To attract women?”

  “No. If I was that shallow I’d have gone into gynecology, so I would know the factual answer that ages-old debate of whether two women can ever truly be, uh, alike.”

  Genevieve suppressed a smile, not wanting to stray from the matter at hand.

  “What are we going to do about Cesca’s party, Dexter?” she asked anxiously.

  He shrugged. “Go to it, preferably wearing outfits that don’t clash.” He raised a hand to the bartender. “A Miller Draft, please, Mike.”

  She wanted to throttle him. How could anyone with so much education be so dense? “Dexter, you’re not getting it. As far as all these people are concerned, we’re supposed to be married. With all you have going on, do you really want the added stress?”

  “We’re going to have to convince the Immigration people. Think of this as a dry run, one that won’t have any consequences if we blow it. I know we worked on learning about each other, but the way we interact is important. Once we start acting like a married couple in public, you probably won’t be so nervous about meeting with the INS.” He took a moment to pour the opened bottle of beer into the accompanying pilsner the bartender provided him. With a chuckle, he said, “I’ll bet you dropped a lot of plates and glasses when you were a kid.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Jenny, I know you’ve had a lot to worry about these last weeks, but try to take it easy. Be friendly and charming, and don’t say too much. That might cause you to give something away.” He glanced at her stemmed glass. “And two glasses of wine, tops, to make sure there’s no loose lips.”

  She rolled her eyes at him as the waitress called out to her. “Your dinner is ready, Miss. Did you have a preference of where to sit?”

  “Any table is fine,” she replied, swinging her long legs to the side of the stool away from Dexter and slipping off it. She pretended not to notice him staring at her legs and instead gathered her handbag and wine and took a seat at the mahogany table for two in front of a window where the waitress had set their plates. She placed her purse in the window sill. “I ordered you a hamburger, like you wanted,” she told him as he sat opposite her. “I hope I got all the fixings right.”

  “It looks fine. What’d you get?”

  “The grilled veggie and Portobello mushroom sandwich with Arugula.” She took a bite after cutting the baguette bread in half. “Mmm, good.”

  “Yeah, the food’s pretty good here.”

  She swallowed. “Dexter. You realize that if you invite your friends to Cesca’s party, you’ll have to tell your friends you’re married.”

  “So what?” he said with a shrug. “If anything, they’ll be delighted for a look at my private life. I’m known for keeping quiet while they complain about their wives and girlfriends, or pass on what they’ve heard about who’s sleeping with who.”

  “I thought men don’t gossip.”

  He chuckled. “Beats talking about the Knicks, especially the way they’ve been playing lately. But I do have to say that it can help to know the inside story. Like why one of the general surgeons has become such a hard nose lately.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. Why?”

  “Because her husband has taken up with a woman half his age and is divorcing her and trying to take everything she’s got. I guess she’s got a right to be ticked off, but she’d better watch those tantrums in the O.R. She could have put out somebody’s eye with that probe she threw.”

  “Charming behavior,” Genevieve said drolly. “Makes me glad I’m healthy.”

  “Speaking of healthy, how’s your butt?”

  She refused to let him rattle her. “My rash is getting better. I really appreciate those samples you got me.” She took a sip of wine. “So what do you do while your colleagues talk about the intimate details of their lives?”

  “I listen, and I keep my mouth shut,” he replied. “They only know I’m out to finish law school, and that I haven’t had time for a personal life. They don’t even know when my birthday is. I wrote down February thirtieth when the list came around.”

  “There is no February thirtieth, Dexter.”

  “I know that. But apparently Lynette on the reception desk doesn’t know that. She typed it up and posted it.”

  Genevieve made a mental note to never go to that particular hospital. Between surgeons throwing instruments in fits of pique and receptionists who wouldn’t know Ash Wednesday from Stormy Monday, their staff sounded awful. “When is your birthday, anyway?”

  “May sixth.” He looked at her with compelling eyes. “That date should be high up on the list of things to know about your husband, Mrs. Gray.”

  Genevieve remained apprehensive about Cesca’s party all week. Her tension only increased when Dexter showed up at her door unannounced at six o’clock the day of the party, wearing scrubs and carrying the same black nylon duffel bag he’d brought to Maryland. This was a complete shift from their plans to meet at a local bar and grill. “What are you doing here?” she demanded upon opening the door. “And how did you get through the lobby door without a key?”

  “I didn’t feel like changing at work,” he replied. “It would be more comfortable to shower and change here. Z.L. is on duty. He let me in and told the concierge who I was.”

  “And what about our original plan for you to meet me at the pub around the corner?”
>
  He shrugged. “I decided my plan was better.”

  She flashed him a murderous look. His showing up spontaneously like this once he learned her address was precisely what she’d been afraid of.

  When they left the building at seven-thirty, Genevieve still felt tense. The wedding ring she slipped on her finger before leaving felt strange around her finger. It occurred to her that every time she’d seen Dexter since their ceremony he’d been wearing his. He probably only removed it while he was working.

  “Evening, Z.L.,” Dexter jauntily greeted as the alert the doorman opened the door for them.

  “Good evening, Mr. Gray, Mrs. Gray.”

  Dexter laughed. “It’s all right, Z.L. I know you have a special name for my wife. You don’t have to refrain from using it in front of me.”

  The doorman flushed. “No disrespect, sir. You understand. I’ve known Jenishka since she was in high school.”

  “Like I said, no problem. I think it’s cute.”

  Z.L. bowed slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Gray.” He smiled at them. “You two make a handsome couple. Going out for some dinner?”

  “To a friends’ for cocktails,” Dexter supplied.

  “I see.” Z.L.’s sharp eyes caught sight of an approaching resident and he swiftly moved to open the front door. “Enjoy it. You both work so hard; you deserve a good time.”

  “Thanks, Z.L.,” Genevieve replied.

  “Shall I hail a cab for you?” he offered.

  She turned to Dexter, a question in her eyes.

  “No, thanks,” he said, taking her arm. “We’re going to walk.”

  The next afternoon Genevieve left the Upper East Side boutique, happy with her purchase. Not only had the shoes looked and felt wonderful on her feet, they’d been on sale. She’d never been big on clothes, but every now and again she felt an urge to buy something new.

  Especially today. Yesterday she’d completed a challenging project, and this morning she read an email from her client stating that they loved it. The mid-October Indian summer weather was holding out. Best of all, in spite of her apprehension that something would go terribly wrong, the party last night had gone off without a hitch.

  Three of Dexter’s unattached buddies from the lab joined them, and they reacted with the expected shock and disbelief when he introduced her as his wife. Their open stares at her midsection told Genevieve their suspicions as to the reason for the sudden marriage, but she didn’t mind them thinking she was pregnant. Better that than the truth, she reasoned.

  She still felt uncomfortable with taking their charade public, but as Dexter pointed out, the INS might ask for references. They might believe she kept a low profile, but she couldn’t expect them to believe Dexter had no friends either.

  The gathering ended by eleven, and as she and Dexter walked home, Genevieve daydreamed that they weren’t married, but had simply gone out on a date. What would happen when he saw her to her door? Would he have kissed her, as was his habit? Would she have invited him in, continued kissing him, and eventually adjourned to the bedroom? She would never know.

  When they got upstairs, Dexter dropped onto the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table and said, “I’ll just wait another hour or so until Z.L. leaves, and then I’ll get my bag and go. I’ve got to work at the lab tomorrow.”

  “I thought you were finished. Didn’t you give notice before Labor Day?”

  “They asked if I’d be interested in working as an on-call backup on the weekends, and I accepted. They get me two or three times a month.”

  She immediately became concerned. “Are you sure it’s not too much for you, with classes starting next week and you working full time at the M.E.’s office?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. It’s not every weekend. Besides, the M.E.’s office tends to be pretty quiet in the evenings. There’s just me and the stiffs. I’ll get a lot of studying done.”

  He kept his word, leaving with his duffel bag twenty minutes past midnight.

  His departure left an almost palpable void in the apartment, turning Genevieve’s surroundings from warm and lively to cold and empty. But it was the only thing to be done.

  Why, then, did she feel like she’d been abandoned?

  There’d been a lot of pretty ladies at last night’s party, and Dexter had looked especially handsome after he’d showered at her apartment and changed into a yellow tailored shirt, brown slacks and a tan tweed blazer. He would have had to be blind not to notice how they smiled at him like they were auditioning for a Rembrandt commercial. Had he decided that there were too many women in New York for him to be hung up on her? He wasn’t in a position to return the flirting at the party, of course, but when they weren’t posing as happy newlyweds and he was out alone, would he ask for a woman’s phone number? He’d certainly be within his rights. She’d told him herself that he was free to see other women.

  What she’d said was one thing. What she felt was another. And thinking of Dexter with another woman made her feel pretty damn lousy.

  A brown tweed pantsuit on a mannequin in a store window caught her eye, and she walked closer to the window, glad for a distraction to get her mind off Dexter.

  She’d almost reached the window when, out of nowhere, someone slammed into her and sent her sprawling forward.

  “What the—ouch!” She didn’t know which hurt the most, her ankle, which twisted in the fall, or her wrist, which she used to break her fall. The cement sidewalk had rushed at her like a forty-mile-per-hour wind.

  “My goodness, he’s just knocking everybody down,” a woman indignantly declared.

  Genevieve struggled to her feet and grabbed her packages. Already her twisted ankle throbbed, and it hurt to put weight on it. She’d never make it home on foot; she’d have to hail a cab.

  Sirens blared as numerous police cars pulled up to the curb, while others sped down the busy street in pursuit of the perpetrator. The officers busied themselves helping the trail of people who’d been knocked down get to their feet...and asking questions.

  Her entire body went rigid, and the throbbing in her ankle increased. She’d managed to avoid any encounters with the law the entire time she’d been back in the States, and now, because she’d been knocked down by some petty criminal, she was about to be questioned by the police.

  The key was not to show any nervousness. She hadn’t even seen anything except the back of a long-legged young man zipping down Seventy-Second Street, pushing people out of the way as he ran.

  She leaned against the glass of the window to take some of the pressure off her twisted ankle. The officers quickly moved through the crowd, calling out to those who had seen anything or who had been hurt.

  A young brown-skinned officer caught sight of her leaning against the wall, trying to balance herself on one foot. “Are you injured, ma’am? Oh!” he exclaimed, taking in the gash on her right leg.

  “He knocked me down, but I’ll be all right. Please...I’d really like to go home.”

  “Can I get your name, please?”

  She told him.

  “Okay. Did you get a good look at the man who knocked you down?”

  “No. All I saw was his back as he ran down the street.” In spite of her eagerness to get away from the officer, she couldn’t help being curious. “What’d he do?”

  “He ran off with an expensive ring while he was pretending to want to buy it from the jewelry store on the corner. Did you see him at all?”

  “Not really. He had dark hair, I think. And he wore a white dress shirt and dark slacks. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up.” She remembered the arms that protruded from his sleeves. “I’m pretty sure he was white. Light brown hair. Not too tall, but slim. And I presume he was young.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  She thought a moment, then shook her head. “No.”

  He smiled at her. “See, you saw more than you thought. Thank you, ma’am. If you’ll just wait a few minutes, we’re transporting everyone who’s been h
urt to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “You probably need to get that leg cleaned up. And an x-ray wouldn’t hurt, either,” the officer said as he noticed her wince with pain when she put weight on her ankle in an effort to keep her balance. “In the meantime, is there someone I can call for you, Miss Gray?”

  “Mrs.” Instantly she regretted the word, for her ring was in the change compartment of her wallet. She watched helplessly as the alert officer’s gaze instantly traveled to her bare left hand.

  “Perhaps you’d like your husband to come down to the hospital to meet you? I can call him for you. We’ll need your contact information anyway, in case we have to reach you.”

  She gave him her address, followed by her telephone number at his prompting.

  “Is that where we can reach your husband?”

  “He isn’t home. He’s at...”

  The officer looked at her expectantly, pen poised to write.

  With horror, Genevieve realized she couldn’t remember Dexter’s cell number, which she rarely dialed, having set up a speed dial code for it. “Um...four pound,” she concluded weakly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Four pound. I’ve got his cell number on speed dial. The actual number...well, it’s the funniest thing, but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

  The incredulous look on the officer’s face told her he didn’t find it at all funny. “I mean....” she sputtered, looking for an excuse. Any excuse. “It’s just that I have to remember so many numbers. Passwords. ATM card codes. Regular phone numbers. Cell phone numbers. So I use speed dial to make things easier.”

  “It’s Saturday, ma’am. Wouldn’t your husband be at home?”

  “Plenty of people work on Saturday,” she snapped. “You’re not home, are you?”

  “Don’t you know your husband’s work number?”