by Jill Winters
Spoke too soon.
"Hey, you new around here?"
Reese looked over at the young man who'd just stepped onto the treadmill next to her. "Hi," she said, smiling amiably. "I'm just a guest."
"Oh, I'm hep."
"Sorry?" she said, unsure what he'd just said.
"What's your name?" he asked, grinning hugely. Reese noticed that his hair was slicked, winged out, and twirled on top like Elvis, and his T-shirt had a varsity letter stitched on it. Okay, so she didn't attract the regular guys at the gym—she attracted the dorks at the gym.
"Reese," she replied, shaking his hand.
"I'm rockabilly."
"Wha—I'm sorry, what was your name?"
"No... I mean, my name's Jim, but I'm rockabilly. You know, as in, I am rockabilly."
"I... okay," she said politely. And cluelessly.
"Haven't you heard of rockabilly?" Her guilty expression must have told him no. "You know, it's when a person's really into the fifties, but with their own modern twist on it." He shrugged. "Well, it's big in California."
"Oh," she said for lack of anything else.
"So how do you like this gym?" he asked. "I only come here because it's close to my house, but I can't stand the music they play here. I like the golden oldies, you know? Elvis, Dion, Buddy Holly."
"Yeah, I like Buddy Holly," Reese said.
"No, but I like Buddy Holly," Jim said, sounding suggestive. "I mean, I've got every track ever recorded, and pictures of him on my walls. Buddy Holly was the man."
Okay, so she didn't just attract the dorks, she attracted the latent-gay dorks. The Goldwood Fitness Center was doing wonders for her self-esteem.
"Hey, what are you doing after this?" he asked. "Feel like going back to my place, maybe listening to some forty-fives? Or maybe going somewhere to get a malted?"
Reese tried not to grimace. "Oh, you know what? I'm doing something with my sister. Actually, that reminds me." She stopped the walking belt abruptly, opting to skip the "cooldown." "I'm supposed to spot her now on the"—looking around, she selected at random—"Triangulating Combinator."
Rockabilly looked disappointed, but nodded and smiled broadly. "Sure, I'm hep."
She'd had a feeling he would be. "Okay, well, nice meeting you," she said brightly. "See you later." She hoped not. Finally Reese caught up with her sister at the drink machine. Ally was buying a Fresh Samantha for herself, and offered Reese one, too. Shaking her head, Reese pressed the Diet Coke button. Maybe she shouldn't have caffeine after a workout, but she was taking baby steps to self-improvement. Anyway, when it came right down to it, some habits were just too hard to break.
Chapter 16
Reese had just finished putting Ally's perfume on her pulse points when the doorbell rang. Before darting down the stairs to beat her mother to the door, she stole a look at her reflection in her full-length mirror. She had settled on a long wool skirt, and brown high-heeled boots, with a formfitting, cream-colored vee-neck sweater. All in all, pretty conservative, but that had to be the best way to go with Kenneth.
Even though she took the steps two at a time, she was still too late.
"Oh, Reese, there you are, honey!" Joanna said, grinning enormously. Kenneth was standing politely beside her with his hands clasped in front of him, dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks and a tan winter jacket. His medium-brown hair was, as always, combed cleanly over, with a 1950s side part running perfectly down his head. Well, for a nerd, he was definitely good-looking.
As always, he was well shaved. In fact, Reese had never seen an errant whisker on his face, and had started to wonder if Kenneth actually grew hair there.
"Hi," she said, smiling at him as she tugged on her purple leather jacket. "Well, we should probably get go—"
"Kenneth, are you hungry?" Joanna asked eagerly. "I have some food in the kitchen—"
"Mom, we're going to dinner," Reese interrupted quickly. "Well, come on, Ken—"
"Michael!" Joanna called out, beaming from ear to ear and holding up a finger so they'd stay right there. "Michael, come out here and meet Reese's young man! You've never met Reese's father, right, Kenneth?"
"I'm coming!" Michael called from his study. Within seconds he was joining everyone at the foot of the stairs, in a tweed sports coat with an unlit pipe dangling from his mouth. Extending his hand, he said, "Michael Brock. Good to meet you."
Kenneth hesitated for a second, then shook his hand in return, and stammered something like, "Yes, uh, pleasure." Then he cleared his throat—the transparency of which was getting ridiculous. Jeez, did every human interaction make him feel awkward?
Stop it, stop it. You're trying to give this a chance.
And why not? Kenneth was finally showing more initiative, which was what she'd said she wanted. He was there, romantically pursuing her, which was more than she could say for Brian, who seemed to view her only as his buddy at the cafe.
"Michael, this is Kenneth," Joanna said, because Kenneth hadn't.
"Kenneth," Michael repeated approvingly. "Pleasure."
"Okay, well, we're just gonna get going—"
"Wait, wait," Joanna ordered, holding up her finger again and going to the small bureau next to the grandfather clock. What was she doing... what on earth...
WHAT!
"I need to use up this film," she said, removing the lens cap from her clunky black camera. "Smile!"
"Mom!" Reese yelled—then softened her tone for the sake of company. "Mother, please. We don't have time for that."
"Nonsense, it'll just take a second!" Joanna sang merrily, looking through her camera and turning the lens from side to side.
"Joanna, maybe you should save that for another time," Michael advised.
"Okay, get a little closer together," Joanna said excitedly, ignoring her husband.
Meanwhile Reese felt like she was going to explode. This looked like the setup of the century. It looked like she put her mother up to this, for Pete's sake!
She glanced over at Kenneth, who appeared to be caught in a pale, dead stare as he began fumbling with the zippers on his jacket pockets. "Mom, please," Reese begged as she heard a click, and a burst of light zapped her vision.
"Okay, that's all!" Joanna said, holding up her hand in surrender. "I won't take any more—I just couldn't resist; you two are so cute! And you have such a great smile, honey!"
What smile? She'd obviously caught her in the midst of saying "please" with teeth gritted widely in desperation, and rationalized that it was a smile. Reese thought, I can't believe I'm twenty-seven (and a half, damn it), and this is my life.
But what was done was done. Now it was time to get the hell out of there. "Come on; let's go," she said, taking Kenneth's arm and leading him out the door.
"Bye, you two!" Joanna shouted, waving maniacally.
"Sorry about the photo shoot," Reese said dryly once they reached the driveway. Kenneth just cleared his throat again. "By the way," she added, "I don't mind driving us to the restaurant, since you drove in from the city—"
"Yes, that sounds good," he said, and not even gratefully, as she'd hoped he would be. Not that she was some sort of a martyr, but she'd hoped he'd be a little grateful.
She unlocked the passenger-side door for him, and he got in while she went around to her side. Once she was buckled in, she turned the key in the ignition, and music blasted.
"Oh!" she started as Kenneth jerked his shoulders against the back of the seat. Smiling sheepishly, Reese turned the volume down as Kenneth continued looking rattled to the point of annoyance.
"Sorry about that," she said lightly, and pulled out of her parents' driveway.
* * *
At Corelli's, the conversation stopped and stalled—over and over. As Reese finished up her salad greens, she attempted again. "So... seen any good movies?"
Kenneth waited until he was done methodically chewing and swallowing before he replied, "I don't really enjoy going to the movies."
"You
don't?" Reese said, surprised. "But we've gone to the movies a bunch of times."
"Oh, uh, yes, that's true. We have." He took a slow, slurping sip of his drink, while Reese processed this latest revelation. So all this time, Kenneth didn't like going to the movies. Yet in the two months they'd been casually dating, he'd taken her to the movies several times. Then again, she'd often suggested it, since Kenneth was rarely good at taking the lead. Could she have been reading his hints all wrong?
"However, I did rent an interesting film the other night," he said. "It used the premise of a controversial archeological dig to construct a social allegory. It was quite fascinating."
Reese couldn't help but smile. This was the brainy side of Kenneth she'd once found so attractive. He offered more analysis of the movie he'd seen, and for the first time in weeks, she was genuinely enjoying his company.
Maybe there was hope for them yet.
Reese was feeling so comfortable, in fact, that when Kenneth asked several moments later how her dissertation was coming along, she admitted to him that, frankly, it wasn't exactly bowling her over. "What do you mean?" he asked, clearly perplexed.
She shrugged. "I don't know... I'm just not that motivated to work on it right now."
"I... see," Kenneth said tonelessly.
"To tell you the truth," Reese continued, "sometimes I wonder if I'll even finish the program."
Kenneth's eyes shot wide with alarm. Suddenly Reese felt terribly exposed. She'd said too much.
Secretly, she'd been hoping for Kenneth's approval... or maybe she'd been testing him, in which case, he'd failed. Big-time.
"What do you mean, never finish?" Kenneth persisted. "Surely you wouldn't invest all this time at Crewlyn and not finish? Not to mention wasting fellowship funding so irresponsibly?"
Swallowing hard, Reese backpedaled. "Oh, no, you're right. I was... just exaggerating." Well, he'd made her feel like a major slug. True, she had been awarded a fellowship to study for her Ph.D. at Crewlyn, but it wasn't some effortless free ride. Both years she'd been there, she'd worked her butt off, keeping her grades high while assisting Professor Kimble and putting in double the hours per week she was stipended for. Maybe it was selfish, but as far as Reese was concerned, she didn't owe Crewlyn a degree.
Nevertheless, one thing was clear: If Kenneth was offended by her idea of leaving their program, she could never confide her fiction-writing aspirations. No way.
"Don't you like our graduate program?" he asked, refusing to let the topic drop.
"Um, yeah, sure, I like it," she lied.
"Haven't you enjoyed the courses you've taken? The diversified selection?"
What, did he moonlight in the admissions office? What did he care?
"Well, yeah... I suppose," Reese replied hesitantly. "But to tell you the truth... I don't find the courses all that diversified, actually. I mean, if I want to take an American history course, my only option is Professor Shamus. That's not right—there should be more than one professor in the whole department who can teach American history. What if a student doesn't like Shamus, or vice versa? It just shouldn't be like that. Ancient history's the same way—all you get is Professor Metzger, and he's an "Offensive creep.""
Suddenly Kenneth's lips tightened and his eyebrows pinched. He clutched his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white, and as he spoke, he ground out his words. "Professor Shamus is a brilliant scholar, and a student would be blessed by her tutelage."
O-kay.
Professor Shamus was also an ancient spinster who was known for doling out grades according to the wild swings of her senility, but that was clearly another topic they weren't going to agree on. Predictably, then, the conversation stalled. After several beats the silence was almost painful. Reese would have loved a stiff drink but she was driving that night.
Then again... that gave her an idea.
"What are you drinking again?" she asked as she spotted their waiter.
"Ginger ale," Kenneth replied.
"Yeah, that's right. Um, do you mind if I order you something else? I mean, for after the ginger ale." He appeared profoundly baffled, so Reese brushed some hair behind her ears and explained, "It's one of my favorites. I'd love it if you tried it. Do you mind?"
Before he had a chance to answer that, Reese accosted their waiter as he was setting down their eggplant parmigiana. "Excuse me, can we have a Long Island iced tea over here? When you get a chance."
"Oh, sure," he said, and then smiled as if he knew her plan to get Kenneth drunk. Luckily, Kenneth had no clue himself.
Besides, she didn't really want him drunk, because he'd have to drive home later, but loosening him up for the next hour could not possibly be a bad thing.
"Long Island iced tea?" he repeated, as he began to cut his eggplant into tiny squares. "What's in that?"
"Um... I'm not sure exactly..." she lied, "but it's really, really good." Reese watched Kenneth cut his tiny squares into even tinier squares, and waited anxiously for the booze. And somewhere deep inside, she had the distinct feeling that this was all very pathetic.
* * *
Okay, so apparently Kenneth didn't get intoxicated—by women or, as Reese learned tonight, by wine. The boy was some kind of fortress, and it was wearing her out.
The entire meal, he'd sipped at his drink, barely draining the glass of even an inch of it, while he'd asked her a barrage of annoying questions about Kimble's book. By the time he asked her, "So when does Professor Kimble anticipate contacting publishers?" Reese gave up. At that point she was pretty sure she'd given up on men in general.
"You know what?" she'd said. "My head is killing me. Mind if we call it a night?"
"Oh... of course not," he responded a little stiffly.
Then he threw in, "You might want to use a cold compress on your forehead later—uh, but of course that's your decision."
"Yeah, thanks," she managed.
And so it had ended there. They'd enjoyed a mute ride back to her house, and Kenneth had planted a big dry one on the corner of her mouth, catapulting her into rapturous apathy for two whole seconds. Then he was off in his own car, heading back to the city.
Reese unlocked the front door and entered her house, which was brightly lit. But then, why wouldn't it be? It was 8:45.
How lame.
Probably the only thing lamer than that would be getting drawn into a family meeting about the status of her date, so she tried to book it to her bedroom before she was accosted.
"Reese?" Damn, damn, damn. "Sweetheart, is that you?" Joanna called from upstairs.
Lucky for Joanna, Reese wasn't in the mood to lay into her for her earlier antics with the Konica, but she really shouldn't push it. In fact, her mother had just better take the hint, because there was no way Reese was discussing her dinner date with Kenneth. Either Joanna would offer unsolicited, delusionally optimistic advice, or she'd blame everything on Reese.
Either way, she'd pass, thank you.
"Uh, yeah, it's me, but I can't talk now," Reese said quickly as she jogged up the stairs. Her mother got to her as she was crossing the threshold of her bedroom.
"Well? How did it go?"
"Um, Mom, I have a headache, and I really don't feel like talking. And no, nothing's wrong. I'll talk to you tomorrow, if you don't mind. Please, I hope you'll respect that. Thank you for your cooperation."
She closed her bedroom door and sagged her weight against it. If her mother cared about her sanity at all, she'd leave it at that.
And, shockingly, she did.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Reese kicked off her boots, shoved down her skirt, and all but tore off the clingy vee-neck sweater that she had hoped would be subtly sexy tonight. Hah! Subtlety was wasted on Kenneth Peel, and "sexy" didn't seem to be programmed into his cold, computer-like brain.
She couldn't believe she actually used to be interested in him! Over the past couple of weeks, he had managed to lose all of his nerdy-but-nice appeal. Now he was just aloof and inept. Pleas
e. Who had the patience for that?
Hey, she'd tried. She'd given it all she had, but some people were just not meant to be together—end of story.
Climbing into her bed and slipping under the covers in just her bra and underwear, she suddenly felt a little better.
Fine, so she and Kenneth were a bust. Did that mean she had to give up on men altogether (as she'd vowed to herself the moment that Kenneth had set down exactly $23.18 for exactly half the bill)? Maybe she had been hasty—they weren't all boring duds.
There were men out there like Brian. Well, there was Brian, to be more precise. Thinking about him warmed her up and renewed a sense of excitement deep inside her. Could there possibly be anything there? She honestly didn't know.
But one thing was certain: if she was going to think about anyone right now—as she forced herself to sleep at 8:45 on a Saturday night—it was going to be Brian Doren.
* * *
He came out of nowhere, and his face was blurry for a second before it became clear. Then it was blank. Brian was sitting down next to her on a sofa in the middle of Roland & Fisk. But he was sitting calmly, while Reese's frustration was ready to boil over any second.
They were watching something in front of them—some sort of movie, but it didn't really make sense, and Reese forced herself to ignore how hard her heart was beating, how hot the air was, and how much she wanted to lean over and lick Brian's neck. I'm ridiculous, she said to herself. He's totally composed, and I'm ready to tear my clothes off.
Suddenly she felt him getting closer... and closer... until his arm spread across her back. She turned her head a little, and barely registered the pronounced bulge in his pants before she felt hot breath fan her ear. "Is this movie turning you on?" he asked in a raspy voice that melted her insides.