by Laura Briggs
Usually she had casual lunches at local delis and cafes, most of them with Jamie, where they swapped sketches and perfected assignment concepts over a platter of pastrami sandwiches.
The smell of hors d’oeuvres wafting from a nearby tray made her mouth water. She contemplated ordering an appetizer, but the sight of Warren climbing the staircase banished the notion from her mind.
“Hi, honey.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his skin cold from the evening wind. “Sorry I’m late. Last minute meeting at the firm. Apparently, advertising executives don’t make romantic plans for after-business hours.”
“It’s OK.” Feeling under the table with her feet, she tried to locate her heels. “The waiter will be back any minute with the menus.”
He sank down in the chair across from hers and smiled. “You look lovely as usual. That dress is so...unique. I’ve never seen anyone dress like you before.”
“Except your grandmother, right?” She grinned. “This one came from that shop around the corner from my apartment. I got the shoes there, too.” Poking one foot from beneath the table, she revealed a cherry red stiletto that silver screen divas would have envied.
“Very nice.” Warren’s voice assumed that thoughtful tone she recognized as a signal he wasn’t really paying attention.
The waiter drifted into sight, carrying two menus. “Good evening. Tonight’s special is the fillet mushroom elite. A grilled steak, topped with portabella mushrooms across a bed of fragrant lemon rice.”
“I’ll have the crab puffs with calamari linguini,” Warren said, without checking the menu. “And a house salad, undressed.”
Alice glanced up with a frown. “Wait. Didn’t you have that same dish last time?”
“Probably. It’s the house special, you know.”
“Why not be adventurous?” she teased, knowing he disliked spur-of-the-moment decisions. “I’m leaning towards something with a bit of zing.” She turned to the waiter. “What’s the chicken cacciatore like?”
He paused as if her question caught him off-guard. “Citrus-infused, with steamed vegetables and a light drizzle of Alfredo sauce.”
“Hmmm…” she tapped her fingers against her menu, debating. “I think I’ll try the couscous instead.”
The waiter made a note on his pad and departed.
“No soup or salad?” Warren asked with surprise.
Her eyes widened. “I forgot. Oh, never mind. I’ll make up for it with dessert.” She patted her stomach jokingly as Warren rolled his eyes.
“Your figure is perfect. Besides, the way you’ve been pursuing your tennis game, you’ll have the muscles of a physical trainer in no time.”
Not tennis again. Alice ranked as one of the worst players in the world, despite the tennis lessons and Warren’s constant encouragement. “I’m not sure there’s an athlete trapped inside me waiting to get out. In fact, I’ve almost decided to give it up.”
“Nonsense.” He squeezed a lemon slice into his water. “You just need more coaching. Plus, the new racquet I ordered for you should provide a little more challenge than your old one.”
“You’re the one who needs a new racquet.”
“Mine works fine, now that I got the hole fixed from the accident.” He was referring to the time Alice stumbled and stepped on it during one of their practice sessions.
“You don’t need to buy me expensive things,” she insisted, blushing at the memory. Warren’s gifts were generous, impractical, and completely unnecessary. Just last week, he presented her with an Alfred Sisley landscape print, in hopes it might inspire a “new direction” for her artwork.
“I’m afraid some habits can’t be broken,” he said, brushing aside the request, along with a speck of lint from his jacket.
“Well, at least stop investing in equipment for a hopeless player like me. Promise me this is the last expense you’ll incur on behalf of the Alice Headley Training Project.”
“Never.” He caught her hand across the table, a mischievous gleam invading his clear blue eyes, reminding her why so many of her female friends swooned whenever she mentioned his name.
The harsh trill of his cell phone interrupted the moment. “Sorry,” he said, checking the screen before snapping it open. “Hey, Ted, of course we’re still on for Saturday...”
Repressing a sigh, Alice fingered the petals on the floral centerpiece. Reality struck again. But grown-up relationships weren’t about fairytale moments—no matter what hopeless romantics like Jamie might say about sparks or chemistry. She brushed Jamie’s advice from her thoughts, swatting back his thinly-veiled criticisms of her love life like a gnat buzzing around her head.
Warren closed the phone. “Ted’s reserving a court for Saturday. The charity match is only a month away, you know.” His face lit up. “Hey, let’s book a second court, and you can practice with Liz.”
“This weekend?” Alice answered, stalling for time. The thought of facing Ted’s girlfriend on the court seemed brutal after witnessing her game from the sidelines.
“Come on, it’ll be perfect. Unless you have an art thing on Saturday.” He paused in mid-reach for his phone. It was her opportunity to kill his idea, but she couldn’t do it.
“Nope. No art thing.” She forced a smile as he dialed Ted’s number, mentally preparing for a Saturday morning of dodging Liz’s ball. Maybe she could talk Ted into switching partners, since Warren was more patient with her mistakes than most players.
The waiter approached with Warren’s salad and placed it on the table.
Downstairs, the restaurant’s pianist struck up a slow version of an old song.
“So, tell me about your day.” Alice sneaked a cherry tomato from his plate, avoiding a playful smack from his hand.
“Not bad. I finally got a contract commitment on the Brewster account. And I’m hoping to secure another commitment very soon. One much more important.” He gave her a meaningful look that made her heart turn over.
A brief silence fell between them as the waiter filled their water glasses.
Warren moved the flower arrangement to the side, his expression shifting to the serious look Alice liked to think he reserved for clients at the advertising firm.
“Alice…” He cleared his throat, fingers playing with his napkin. “Until now, our relationship has been comfortable. Compatible, even.”
“Of course.” She nodded, trying not to seem concerned as a tingle spread across her skin.
“We’ve been on track for some time, I would say. Moving towards something more than just close companionship,” he continued. “After two years, I think it’s time to take the next logical step. The final step, actually.”
“The what?” Her voice cracked, her throat suddenly dry.
“I know most guys would wait until Valentine’s Day,” Warren said, his hand slipping inside his jacket pocket. “But I’ve never liked the uncertainty of an elaborate surprise.”
Her breath caught as he placed a velvet box on the table, popping it open to reveal a square cut diamond that dazzled. Her chest tightened in the grip of an emotion she couldn’t identify. Was it love? Because it felt more like panic.
“Well, what do you say?” Warren asked.
Her brain tried to form a response, as the waiter placed their dinners on the table. She could feel steam rising from the dishes, perhaps explaining why Warren seemed to swim in her vision.
“I-I don’t know,” she stammered.
He reached for her hand and cradled it. Lifting the ring from the box, he slid it onto her finger. “You like it, I hope? The jeweler assured me it was their finest cut. I know you prefer antique things but this seemed so elegant…”
“No, it’s beautiful. I-I’m surprised, that’s all.”
What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she saying yes? The word seemed stuck somewhere between her chest and her lips. She prayed silently for the right answer, but her tongue remained frozen.
“We can’t go on dating forever.” Warren’s tone was gen
tle as his gaze searched her face. “It’s time to make up our minds about the future. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course.” She squeezed his hand. The ring felt odd against her skin. Heavy, like a weight, dragging her towards a decision she wasn’t sure of.
She drew a deep breath. “It’s just that I promised my mother, well…a long time ago, that I’d never rush into anything. That I’d take the time to consider a proposal, to pray about it, too.” She bit her lower lip as she met his gaze.
“Of course. How much time are we talking?”
“Three days?” she asked, toying with her fork.
His worried brow unfurled as if by magic. “Perfect. You can give me your answer on Valentine’s night. I’ve had reservations at the Glass House for a month now. Grand opening, you know.”
A wobbly smile curved her lips. “Thanks for understanding. I just can’t break my promise, not even after all these years.” She tucked hair behind her ear in a habitual “tell” that Jamie once told her revealed nervousness.
Nervous about what? She couldn’t answer that question, somehow.
She reached for her water glass and upset it, spilling its contents all over the table. The liquid cascaded from the table into her lap, along with a couple of ice cubes.
With a squeal, she sprang from her seat, daubing at the skirt with an already-wet napkin. The ice cubes bounced to the floor and landed somewhere beneath the table.
“Are you okay?” Warren grabbed a dry napkin from his own place setting and handed it to her. A second waiter had already rushed forward to wipe off the table.
“I’m fine,” she answered, rearranging her damp skirt. Although the tremor seemed to be spreading from her hands to the rest of her body. “Surprise must be giving me butter fingers or something.”
Warren touched her cheek, gaze filled with concern. “You look pale. I think maybe you need to sit down.”
“I’ll just go dry my skirt,” she answered. Downstairs was an elegant powder room in the main lobby. A few minutes of quiet and a little cool water splashed on her face would make all the difference to jangled emotions.
As she moved towards the stairs, she glanced back and saw Warren rescue her handbag from the soaked table cloth. She could tell this wasn’t the way he envisioned their evening playing out.
She turned back and her vision spun at the sight of the downward spiral. Clutching the rail, she forced her mind to focus on the goal—a calm and relaxed smile— when she rejoined Warren.
Maybe it was a run in the carpet; maybe it was the dizzy feeling from the sight of the ring in Warren’s hand. Either way, Alice wasn’t quite sure what happened the moment her foot touched the mahogany staircase. Except that the world tilted forward and her vision of the lobby became a close-up of the carpet beneath her feet.
Her head met the banister with a thud. A split second later, Alice saw nothing but black.
Ghosts Of Romances Past
3
When Alice opened her eyes, it was like a transition in an old silent film. A keyhole of black opened up to a grainy picture of the world around her. She was staring up at the Orange Blossom’s chandelier, surrounded by elegant crown molding and ceiling tiles.
“Alice! Alice, are you okay?” The voice, which she felt certain belonged to Warren, brimmed with concern. A small crowd was gathered, whispering to each other. Someone was propping up her throbbing head. Was it Warren?
“I’m fine,” she murmured.
“That’s quite a bump,” someone else said.
Another voice chimed in. “Has somebody called an ambulance?”
“No, no,” she said, her voice returning with force. Wincing, she pulled up to a sitting position.
“Lie back down,” Warren said. “I’ve got 911 on speed dial, so help will be here in just a minute.” He flipped open his phone, his finger poised over the button.
“But I don’t need help,” she answered. “I’m fine, really. A few minutes to walk it off and I’ll be back to normal.” Her hand reached for his and closed the cell phone before he could make the call.
“With that bump?” Warren asked, looking incredulous at the thought.
She touched the top of her head and felt a knot the size of an avocado beneath her curls. “It’s just a small bump. Nothing to worry about.”
The crowd thinned, with someone on staff saying they should move her to the sofa. Warren took her elbow and helped her up. Her legs wobbled but didn’t give way.
“See?” she said, ignoring Warren’s eye roll. She glanced around, taking in the customers in the lobby, the staff hurrying to and fro. A lady dressed in an old-fashioned yellow silk dress caught her attention, seated motionless in a wingback chair in the corner.
“Is that…” she murmured, then blinked. The vision was gone.
“Is it what?” asked Warren. “Maybe you need a glass of water.”
“I don’t need anything, honest,” she said, her legs growing steady as she moved towards the sofa. Her handbag lay on a cushion beside Warren’s jacket.
“You need a checkup in the emergency room,” Warren said. “Head injuries can be serious, Alice. You can’t be sure how severely you were hurt. It’s a miracle that you didn’t break your neck in that fall.”
“Then it’s a sign everything will be OK.” She stood on one foot to replace the high-heeled shoe that popped off during her fall. Someone had placed it on the sofa with the rest of her things.
“I’m not so sure about that.” He frowned as he placed hands on her shoulders.
Warren was a worrier, one of the things Alice found attractive about him and annoying at the same time. Didn’t he see that everything was OK? Maybe it was a miracle that she survived, but Alice believed her Father protected her for a reason. And she definitely didn’t want to spend the evening in an emergency waiting room.
“Shall I bring you a carton for your meal, sir?” Their water approached, momentarily distracting Warren.
Over his shoulder, Alice glimpsed a flash of yellow.
The woman in the silk dress. Her posture familiar, her face so similar…Alice closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy again.
It had to be a mistake. When she opened them, a large woman in a fur coat was standing there, arguing with the receptionist.
“Um, yes, I suppose the containers are the best option,” Warren said to the waiter.
The thought of food made Alice’s stomach churn. “Keep mine,” she told him. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
He smiled sympathetically. “I’ll go get the car—”
“A cab is fine,” she said. “I’ll be home in a few minutes’ time.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He drew a bill from his wallet and pushed it into her fingers. “For the cab,” he explained. “Call me when you get home so I’ll know you’re OK.” With one last worried glance, he turned his attention to the waiter and dinner receipt.
The doorman hailed a cab for Alice, who couldn’t help but glance inside the lobby one last time. There was no sign of a woman in a yellow silk dress.
Maybe there was something to Warren’s worries after all.
****
Alice closed her apartment door and tossed her handbag onto the nearest living room chair. What a way to end the day—one foot away from the grave. Or a nasty head injury. She tried not to think about all the possible side effects from plunging down a flight of stairs.
The living room was filled with soft darkness, broken only by a warm glow from a vintage lamp in the corner. The atmosphere was soothing, but Alice could feel small drums pounding somewhere in her brain.
Where had her cordless phone crawled off? She dug around underneath a scattered newspaper and shawl, at last finding it beneath a pillow. The red light was blinking on its base with one new message. She pushed the button.
“Hey there Ali-Cat.”
The warm, friendly, male voice immediately summoned Jamie’s smile and dark brown eyes. “I know you’re still out on the town,” his mess
age continued. “But I thought you’d like to know that Rick at Storyhour loves the new animation and says he can’t wait to see the whole circus in motion.”
“Wonderful,” she murmured, rubbing her temples.
“He requested a few tweaks on the holiday designs that I’ll need to run by you this week. Speaking of which…I feel kind of rotten about our fight this afternoon. The love birds are great as is. I mean they’re love birds; how much romance do they need?”
She laughed as the message came to an end. Leave it to Jamie and his goofy sense of humor to make her smile, even with the hammering headache. The answering machine clicked off.
She’d better report to Warren as promised. Glancing at the clock, she dialed his cell number and received a busy signal. No doubt a business call had caught him, even at this hour. She left a reassuring message before hanging up.
Time for some pain relief. Kicking off the heels, she moved to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet, looking for the aspirin she sometimes took when her fingers grew stiff from painting. The bottle was coated in dust and layers of paint, forcing her to twist extra hard to open it.
Two pills tumbled into her hand. She popped them in her mouth and filled a glass of water. She saw movement as she stared into the darkened kitchen window. Movement from the living room behind her.
Had it been a flash of yellow she saw? A person, somewhere in the darkness? Her heart thudded as she slowly turned. Grabbing a skillet from the stove’s burner, she made her way towards the dark room.
She entered on tiptoe, expecting any minute to see a figure leap out from behind the furniture. Instead, she saw the flutter once again—a curtain, wafting gently in the draft of the heating unit.
With a sign of relief, Alice lowered the skillet. Her mind must be playing tricks on her, maybe a symptom of the big knot on her head.
As she scanned the living room one last time, her gaze caught the unfinished love bird painting. Slipping a smock over the party dress, she quickly mixed shades of pink and lavender. Then, with a smile in the answering machine’s direction, she guided the brush to make a simple rainbow arch above the snuggling birds.