Nothing In Common

by Megan Hart

  CHAPTER 11

  Tom couldn’t believe the week had flown by so fast. The grand opening of The Gallery on Second was tomorrow night. Not only did he not have a costume prepared, he had no idea of how he was going to prove to Lila he really loved her.

  He wished he could use his lack of interest in work as proof of his change in priorities, but that hardly seemed enough. Tonight was the third night this week he’d left the restaurant early, something he rarely did even though Frank Philips was a top-notch manager. Tom liked to mingle with the customers. He had worked hard to make The Foxfire the success it had become, and nothing gave him more satisfaction than finishing the night knowing all had gone well. Since the blowup with Lila, however, he found he couldn’t care less whether the new appetizers were well-received, or anything else. Only about Lila.

  Now he was sitting at the bar in Malley’s Pub, sucking down a pint of warm beer and waiting to hear Mick’s band play. The Roving Ramblers had gone through one set already, their lively mix of traditional Celtic music and Cajun Zydeco surprisingly well-blended. They had taken a break, amid groans of protest from the people in the packed bar. The Ramblers were a huge draw for Malley’s, and ordinarily Tom would have considered hitting Mick up to play a night or two at The Foxfire. Tonight, though, he just didn’t feel like talking shop. He only wanted to think about Lila.

  His suggestions about a skywriter and an ad in the newspaper didn’t seem so crazy now. They seemed easier than the alternative, which was to talk to her face-to-face. Tom hadn’t wanted to admit it to Emma, but the thought of confronting Lila scared him. Emma had been right about him never having to work for anything before. Women had always flocked around him like seagulls fighting over a French fry. He’d never had to face rejection. Then again, he’d never cared so much about anyone before.

  "Our next set’s up in five, Tom." Pint of Guinness in hand, Mick appeared beside him at the bar. Rivka’s husband winked and clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Next round’s on me. Sure and you look like you be needin’ it. I’ve seen happier faces on a flea-bit dog."

  Tom smiled half-heartedly. "Can’t you talk some sense into your sister-in-law?"

  "Ah, and if I could sing the birdies down from the trees, would you be after havin’ me do that as well?" Clearly Mick had no illusions about his ability to affect Lila. "'Tis my Rivka you need to be talkin’ to."

  Tom tossed back the last half of his pint. "She won’t talk to me. Says it’s not her place."

  "Now that would be a first." Mick shook his head and grinned. "When my Rivka leaves her pretty nose out of her sister’s business—"

  "What about my nose?" Rivka appeared suddenly beside him. Mick smiled shamefacedly and kissed her. "The rest of the boys are waiting for you, Mickey."

  Mick took the pointed hint and tipped an imaginary hat toward Tom. Rivka watched her black-haired husband weave his way through the crowd to the small stage area and sighed. She turned and signaled to the bartender.

  "I’ll have a white wine." She pointed to Tom. "He’s paying."

  Obligingly, Tom pulled out his wallet and paid for her drink. They sat in mutual silence for a few minutes. From behind them, The Roving Ramblers began their next set. Mick had forsaken his guitar for a set of uillean pipes, and the haunting melody seemed to squeeze Tom’s throat until he could hardly breathe.

  "This is one of my favorites," Rivka remarked off-handedly. "It’s so sad, though. Don’t you just feel like crying?"

  Tom looked at her sternly. "Don’t play games with me, Rivka. You said you weren’t going to talk to me about Lila, so I haven’t said anything. Yes, I’m upset about losing her, but what can I do? I’ve wracked my brains to think of a way to prove I love her, and I just can’t come up with one. It really burns me up that she didn’t just trust me."

  Rivka clicked her tongue against her teeth. "You know about William, of course."

  Tom growled and finished the rest of his pint. "I’d like to punch that bastard right in the face. It’s all his fault."

  Rivka rolled her eyes and looked so much like Lila his heart hurt again. "It’s not William’s fault, Tom. It’s yours, and Lila’s, too. Poor Billy is only an excuse."

  Without asking, the bartender took Tom’s mug and refilled it. Tom stared at the thick, creamy head of foam atop the dark brew. He knew Rivka was right. It was just easier to blame things on William Darcy.

  "So what can I do about it?"

  Rivka rolled her eyes again and added a sigh so deep it had to have come from her toes. "Men!"

  "What?" Tom’s defenses rose. "Rivka, I feel bad enough, so if you’re going to man bash.…"

  "I’m not going to bash anyone." Rivka finished the last of her wine. She stood up and tugged his shoulder. "C’mon."

  He looked at her warily. The Roving Ramblers weren’t even close to finishing their gig. Rivka’s grin made him nervous.

  Suspicion filled him. "What do you want?"

  "Come with me to the Gallery. To the studio. I want to paint you."

  "Oh, no." Tom shook his head. "No way."

  She frowned. "C’mon. You need this."

  "I need this?"

  "Yeah. You need this."

  "Like I need a hole in my head." Tom grumbled, but he got off the stool. Rivka had a way about her that didn’t make her easy to deny. For one moment, Tom both envied and pitied Mick Delaney, who had made this wacky woman his wife.

  "I’ll give you a hole in your head if you don’t move your butt." Rivka laughed. "C’mon, Tom, I need another X-Man."

  Even though he was already on his feet and following her out of the bar, Tom stopped. "The X-Men again. What am I, just a face?"

  Rivka didn’t wait for him, instead pushing open the door to the parking lot. She called over her shoulder to him. "God gives us certain things in life. It’s stupid to deny them."

  Like he was being sucked along in the wake of an avalanche, Tom followed her to the lot. The frigid night air swept away some of the cobwebs he’d been allowing to cover him. He couldn’t believe he was actually going along with this.

  The drive to The Gallery on Second was too short. He groaned to himself as he followed Rivka inside and to the small studio in the back. He watched as she flicked on lights and busied herself with pots of paint, brushes, and canvas.

  "Rivka, I really don’t think I want to do this. I don’t see the point."

  Rivka turned toward him, no longer teasing. "The point is it will make you feel better."

  He barked out something that was supposed to be a laugh, but didn’t quite make it. "This whole issue with Lila is because she says I’m too good looking to fall in love with her. How can having my portrait painted make me feel any better about that? Are you going to show me with warts or something? A hunchback?"

  Rivka was busy scraping her short curls away from her face and pinning them. "You don’t have any warts. And your back looks fine to me."

  "I wish I did have warts! Or a whole bunch of scars."

  "Chicks dig scars." Rivka pointed. "Sit."

  Despite his misgivings, he sat. Stiff. Like a board. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so self-conscious. He’d never had his picture painted before, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. Something to do with berets maybe, or Rivka standing in front of him holding up her thumb. French accents. Oh, hell, what did he know about painting?

  Rivka’s silence didn’t make things any more comfortable. She worked in silence, unbroken except for the scratch of her brush against the canvas. Her pretty face was furrowed in concentration, and he had time to study her.

  "Lila says you’re the pretty one and she’s the smart one." He wanted to break the silence with something, even lame conversation. "Some kind of family joke?"

  "Yeah. Our parents refused to compare us, so we had to do it for ourselves."

  "So why did Lila get the short end of the stick?" The whole idea suddenly irritated him. He still wanted to lay blame, to ease the ache inside him.

  Rivka bit her l
ip and studied her work. "What, you think being pretty is better than being smart? I always thought I got the short end."

  Agreeing with her would make him sound exactly like the sort of man Lila thought he was. "I just meant that I don’t think Lila isn’t pretty."

  Rivka looked up from her painting to stare at him seriously. "She’s damn gorgeous."

  Taken aback by the force of her words, Tom shifted on his chair. "Well, yeah. But she doesn’t think so. And I want to know why."

  Rivka sighed. "Because of us comparing ourselves. Because of William Darcy. Because of women like your sad excuse for a hostess. Why, why, why? Who ever feels totally comfortable with the way they look, Tom? Bad Billy was the biggest part of why my Lila-love shut herself away, but he’s just one piece."

  "So what can I do?" Tom slammed his fists down on his thighs. "I love her, Rivka!"

  He got up from the chair, not caring that he might be ruining her portrait. He felt the embarrassing acid sting of tears, and he didn’t want to cry in front of Lila’s sister. Instead, he stalked the length of the tiny studio and back. If only he could run and run, until all of this just melted away. Until he melted away and didn’t have to think about it any more.

  "I don’t know, honey." Thankfully she didn’t try and hug him or anything like that. He heard the faint scritch scratch of her brush, ever moving, on the picture. "I wish I could wave my magic wand and turn it all to gold, but right now it’s all just a big pile of dog doo. And frankly, gold dog doo isn’t much better than the regular kind."

  Surprisingly, Tom felt a chuckle bubbling in his chest. It had escaped his throat before he knew it and sounded loud in the tiny space. He turned back to the woman still busy at her canvas. Tendrils of hair had come loose around her face and gave her a wild appearance. Paint had smeared one cheek. She looked every bit as eccentric as she liked people to believe she was.

  "You are such a kook."

  She paused, looking at him with one raised brow that he recognized as the patented Lazin sisters glare. "Moi?"

  Tom sighed and sat back down so she could paint him without so much effort. "I guess I’m the kook. The jerk, the numbskull, whatever. And I’d gladly tell Lila that, but.…"

  "But she won’t see you." Rivka nodded. "I know. She’s like that. Stubborn. It’s a family trait. But that won’t matter because you’ll both be at the opening of the gallery and so will he."

  "He? You mean Darcy?"

  "I invited him to the opening."

  "You did what?" Shocked, Tom glared at her.

  Rivka smiled. "Down, boy. Relax. It’ll be all right."

  He couldn’t believe Rivka would subject her sister to seeing the man who had hurt her so badly. He figured Lila would be tense enough about seeing him there, much less her old boyfriend. "Why?" It had become obvious Rivka wasn’t going to explain herself.

  "Because it’s time Lila-love got over him. And besides, I have some information that’s going to help you a lot."

  "You do?"

  Rivka grinned wickedly. Whatever she had up her sleeve was going to be good. "Our Bad Billy isn’t keeping his marriage vows."

  Tom looked at her cautiously. "What?"

  Rivka kept painting—her arms moving faster as she applied paint with both hands. "He’s cheating on his wife."

  "How do you know this?"

  "I’ve seen them together, him and his fling." Rivka frowned, adding a dab of paint here and another there. "Harrisburg’s a pretty small town, Tom. Word gets around."

  "So what does this have to do with me and Lila?"

  "If you were planning on doing anything for Lila tomorrow night…."

  "Yes?" What she left unspoken intrigued him.

  Rivka shrugged too casually. "I just thought I’d let you know William is going to be there, that’s all. In case you had some things you wanted to tell him. Or make him tell her. Or something."

  An idea had begun forming in Tom’s head, and he grinned. When Rivka returned the smile, he knew he was thinking exactly what she wanted him to. He winked at her. "Thanks, Rivka. I think I’d like to meet that guy."

  "I thought you might."

  "So much for staying out of your sister’s business."

  Rivka gave him a look of disdain. "I never said I was staying out of her business. Besides, she’s my sister. Her business is my business. I want her to be happy, Tom."

  She paused. "She was happy with you."

  "She couldn’t have been too happy." Some of his sour mood returned. "Not if she turned me away so fast for something I didn’t even say or do."

  "I know my sister. You made her happy. She was just too stupid to see she had a good thing going."

  "Thanks," Tom said grudgingly. "I appreciate it."

  "Then sit down and be quiet so I can paint." Rivka pointed again, and Tom found he had no choice but to do as she said.

  * * *

  Lila wasn’t much of a seamstress. She hadn’t inherited any of her sister’s talents for creation, not in painting or writing or cooking, and most definitely not in sewing. Still, she had withstood pricked fingers, broken needles, and snapped threads to make this costume for tomorrow night’s opening. She shook out the folds of shimmering metallic material. The question was…would it be worth it?

  She’d had the good fortune to find the pattern tucked in the clearance box at the fabric store. It must have been left over from Halloween and had been marked down to the ridiculously low price of twenty-five cents. Even if it had been twenty-five dollars, however, Lila would have bought it.

  Taking a cue from something Darren had said to her, Lila had decided to forgo the cute Little Bo Peep costume. She’d never been a fan of lamb. She returned the costume to the store, using the balance of her deposit to buy the wig she now pulled over her own hair. It fell in sleek dark lines to her shoulders and across her forehead. Nestled into the black strands was a headpiece of gold in the shape of a snake.

  "Cleopatra ain’t the only queen of denial." Staring at her reflection, Lila laughed. "Not bad."

  Shimmying out of her comfortable sweatsuit, she pulled on the dress she had labored over for the past three nights. Thankfully, the pattern had been simple enough for even her inadequate skills, though the metallic cloth had been a real pain to work with. She shook her shoulders until the gown fell into graceful folds over her body and down to her feet.

  Next came the padded shoulder pieces, linked together with tiny snakes she had also been fortunate enough to find in the bargain bin. This had been the most difficult part of the costume, requiring hand-sewn braiding and decorations. She’d nearly hot-glued her fingers together, but the results looked good.

  Lila practiced looking regal. In keeping with her vision of the legendary Egyptian beauty, she’d applied far more makeup than she usually did. A different woman stared back at her from the mirror. She outlined her eyes with dark slashes of kohl and filled in her lips with lipstick the color of blood. Now her eyes were startlingly bright blue against the black makeup, and her mouth glistened, the lips plump and inviting. She hardly knew herself.

  She primped. "Not an everyday look. But it’ll do."

  Truthfully, she was more than pleased at how the entire costume had come together. She hardly recognized herself. That was good. The Lila who needed to confront Tom Caine needed to be a little different for tomorrow night. She needed the courage the face paint and elaborate dress would provide.