by Mary Whitney
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Your school friend whom you mentioned—Nicole Johnson—are you finding that contact helpful? Surely you’ve talked.” He looked at me accusatorily. “Your reporting has a lot of insight into Logan. I don’t see it in other people’s stories.”
How honest would I be? If I said too much, I could ruin everything. So I downplayed it, hoping that Kent wouldn’t catch it. “Of course we have. We’re friendly.”
Immediately, I knew Kent suspected I wasn’t fully disclosing what was going on. He blinked twice before standing and signaling the end of the conversation. I walked with him toward the door, unsure as to what to say. Gesturing the way out, he smiled and said, “Keep it friendly.”
I nodded, and we said goodbye. Making my way to my next meeting, I mulled over his words, which could be taken many ways. What exactly had he meant?
The next morning when I was back in DC, I got a call from David as I walked to the office.
“What’s up?” I said.
“I’m calling to let you know we have a date on Saturday night.”
“Absolutely not. You know I hate it when you do this to me. I’m not interested.” Inevitably, I got stuck with the boring and/or less attractive best friend of David’s conquest.
“Oh, you will be this time, mate.”
“Unlikely.”
“We’re having dinner with Nicki and Lisa—at Lisa’s. I’m cooking.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“How on earth…” David was truly a miracle worker when it came to women.
“I’ve been working on Dr. Lisa Roberts since that night in the restaurant.”
“I didn’t think she gave you her number.”
“Yeah, I figured it was too complicated to have you get it from Nicki. That would take bloody ages. So I just called her at her work.”
I imagined David reaching Lisa at the National Institutes of Health. She’d be cloaked in a white lab coat, studying mutated cells, only to pick up the phone and have a Cockney bastard trying to chat her up. It made me laugh. “How did you break her down?”
“Persistence. We’ve talked a few times.”
“I can’t believe it. She seemed unimpressed.”
“I finally got her attention last week when I sent her a dozen roses.”
“And you asked her for a date in the card?”
“No. I told her I want to play doctors and nurses.”
“You’re kidding me.” I shook my head. How does he get away with this shit? “So how did she respond?”
“She rang me up and told me to knock it the fuck off. I apologized profusely and asked if I could make it up to her by cooking her dinner.”
“But you can’t cook.”
“Minor point. Anyhow, she said she’d accept my apology with dinner, but only if Nicki and you were there as well. I’ve got a suspicion she’s been talking to Nicki about you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she avoids the subject when either of you come up in conversation.”
“Well, I’m more than game, but does Nicki know?”
“Not sure. Ask her yourself. Cheers. I’ll see you Saturday afternoon.”
The prospect of dinner with Nicki played through my mind—even if it would be slightly bizarre with David and Lisa joining us. Was it a date? What did Nicki think? It was a good thing it was a slow day at the White House press briefing later that morning, because I caught little of what was said. Afterward, I strolled up to the middle of the room, hoping Nicki would meet me. I wanted to see if we would resume where we’d left things on the phone Saturday night.
I was pleased when she walked up and greeted me with a smile. “Morning, Adam.”
“Hello. It sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you on the health care legislation.”
“Yeah…well, any reform we do will be compared to the British system. That’s both good and bad, as I understand it.”
“Anything free at the point of access has to be good.”
“Excellent point. I’ll remember that.”
“Did I just give you a talking point?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes darted around her before she asked in a low voice, “So, dinner with David and Lisa?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “It’s a bit odd…but I’m looking forward to it.”
“I agree.” She smiled back and motioned toward the door. “I’ve got a meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait. Please. I’ve got a question.” I couldn’t let her go without some insight into why she’d agreed to the date.
“What’s that?”
With my cold reporter’s stare, I asked, “Are you going to tell Juan Carlos?”
“No.” Her smile hardened. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re having dinner with friends. Have you told Felicity?”
“No, nor do I plan to.” Tell Felicity I was having dinner with Nicki in her home? Fuck no. After my last conversation with Felicity in London, it would be bloody stupid to even off-handedly mention it to her.
“Because?”
“That could unnecessarily cock up everything.”
“It could.” She checked her watch and sputtered, “I’m late. We can talk this weekend.”
“Yes, we can.” I beamed. I loved it when I flustered her.
I let her run out of the room while I looked down at my reporter’s notepad to hide my happiness. There were still so many complicating factors for us, and nothing was certain, but I was more confident than ever.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Nicki had said. As I saw it, there was nothing to tell yet.
Chapter Eight
AS DAVID KNOCKED on Lisa’s door, I looked in the shopping bag. “What did you buy?”
“You’ll see.” He patted the bag. “I told you, I got it under control.”
The door opened, and standing before us was Lisa wearing slippers, tight jeans, and a man’s shirt halfway buttoned with a lacy vest peeking out. If her casual attire was a signal that she didn’t care about David, he ignored it. His smile grew wider as he focused on the bit of lace over her cleavage.
She noticed where his eyes had settled and smirked. “Evening, you two. Thanks for coming over.”
“Thanks for inviting us.” I extended my hand to her, but the knowing expression didn’t leave her face as she shook it.
“Not a problem.” Under her breath, she added, “Happy to be of service. Welcome.”
David walked in first. “Lisa, you look as lovely as a flower of the Nile.”
“I told you to drop the African crap, okay?” she said.
“Well, that’s good, then, because I don’t have any lotus flowers.” He handed her the elaborate bouquet he’d been hiding behind his back.
“This is very thoughtful. Thanks,” she said in a softer voice. She touched one of the exotic branches. “What’s this?”
“Pussy willow,” he said triumphantly.
“Hmpf.” She put a hand on her hip and declared, “I’m sure you asked for it just so you could say the word. Was the florist pretty?”
“Not as pretty as you,” he crooned.
She laughed and playfully swatted him with the bouquet. “C’mon. Nicki’s in the kitchen.” As we followed behind her, she said, “I’ll put the pussy willow in a vase.”
“Yes, pussy really should be kept wet,” David said.
Lisa peered over her shoulder in feigned dismay. “Oh God. Are you going to be like this all night?”
“I’ll be like this as long as it takes, princess.”
“I’m not royalty either, okay? This is America.”
Tired of listening to David’s routine, I interrupted, “Your place is very nice.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s not mine, though. I’m just subletting. The owner is a doctor at NIH who’s over in Paris at the Pasteur Institute for the next year or so.”
David surveyed the large room and the French doors that must’ve
led to a balcony. “It’s bloody huge.”
Lisa called back, “He’s loaded. I lucked out. He picked me because I’m quiet.”
“Little does he know…” David sniggered.
Lisa didn’t even respond. She just shook her head as she opened up the swinging door to the kitchen. Nicki stood in front of the work surface, slicing tomatoes. Her dark eyes were warm as she smiled at me, and she looked so cozy in a bright blue jumper that I wanted to grab her waist from behind and hug her.
“What a beautiful bouquet,” she said, reaching over to the flowers.
“Not as pretty as the ladies tonight,” said David. The bastard gave her a peck on the cheek. “How are you, Nicki dear?”
“Great,” she said, giving him a big grin. “Thanks for coming.”
I frowned at David. How was I supposed to follow that? I tried for the sympathy approach. “Evening, Nicki. You do know you didn’t have to cook.”
“Oh, we just thought a salad might be nice.” She shrugged.
“Just in case dinner was crap?” I asked with a wink.
“Maybe…” She smiled. “No, I’m sure David is a great cook.”
David took the bag from me. “Let me show you what’s for dinner.” He began displaying the contents on the worktop. “I’m making a traditional British meal—bangers and mash and spotted dick.”
Oh God. I should’ve found out what David was up to before we’d come. I looked over at Nicki, who giggled and nodded, confirming that she remembered when Mum had served spotted dick to her long ago. I held up my hands in surrender. “I’ve had nothing to do with the planning of this meal.”
“You’re a reporter,” she said, pointing to my chest accusatorily. “You know ignorance isn’t a very good defense.”
Lisa picked up the pack of sausages and the tin of spotted dick. “I detect a theme here.”
“That’s nice to hear, treacle,” David said, putting his arm around her. “I was worried you might not pick up on it.”
Rolling her eyes, Lisa snuck out from under his arm and handed him the bag of potatoes. “You should start peeling if we’re going to eat before midnight. I’ll get the water on.”
As the four of us drank wine and shared the cooking chores, we talked mainly of Lisa’s work at NIH. She was doing something none of us had any experience in, so it was interesting to listen to her.
David leaned over to her and said in that voice I’d heard him use on women far too many times, “Such a big brain in such a pretty little head. We could have beautiful children.”
“Yeah, right,” Lisa said, and she quickly changed the subject.
David actually managed to produce a decent meal, except for the pudding. Lisa pushed her plate toward him. “I’m not very hungry anymore. You can have mine.”
“You don’t like spotted dick from a tin?” David asked.
Nicki took a bite, and she pursed her lips. “Um, Adam, I think I remember your mother’s being better.”
“My mum’s is much better,” I said, pushing the pudding around my plate.
I looked across the dinner table to Nicki. She smiled, acknowledging again our time together years ago. I gazed back at her, but it must’ve been too intense. Her head quickly dropped, and she went back to studying the nasty dessert.
It was only after dinner that the evening took on the air of a date. Prior to that, I had thought Nicki could plausibly argue she didn’t have anything to disclose to Juan Carlos. It could be described as a dinner among old friends.
After the plates had been cleared, though, Lisa forced the issue. She needed little pretense to push Nicki and me out of the kitchen and off to a place where we could be alone. “I can’t clean with everyone in here. Nicki, you and Adam go out on the balcony. It’s a nice night.”
Seeming a little unsure how to act on the cue, Nicki nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. Let’s get another glass of wine.”
The balcony was spacious with a beautiful view of the city. In the distance, the Washington Monument rose through the darkness. I sat down on a chair and placed our wine glasses on the side table, but Nicki remained standing. She leaned her forearms on the rail, and we were both quiet.
When she finally spoke, she didn’t turn to me; she simply revealed into the night, “I was sick the morning of that first press briefing, when we first saw each other again.”
“You were ill? I’m sorry.”
“Not that kind of sick. I was nauseated because I was nervous.”
“It was an important day—the start of a new presidency.” That seemed like the right thing to say, but I hoped there was more to the story than just her work.
“It wasn’t just that, though it certainly was a big day. But I’ve had big days in the past. I don’t mind the spotlight.” She turned around and, leaning against the railing, stared at the floor. “It was you. I couldn’t believe you were going to be there.”
The way she’d said it sounded almost accusatory. How was I to respond? At the time, I couldn’t believe I would be there either. It was as if I’d been directed by an internal compass, unconsciously making life-changing decisions. It still felt that way sometimes.
“When did you hear?” I asked.
She raised her head and looked at me as she spoke this time. “Juan Carlos and I had just gotten back from our vacation in Paris when I heard that you’d taken a White House correspondent job. I got nervous immediately. Then, as it sunk in that I’d be seeing you every day, I was…well, Juan Carlos said I’d become ‘distracted.’ That’s what he called it. I blamed it on my job.”
“Distracted?” I smiled. “I’d say I’ve been distracted myself.”
“I suppose it’s good to know I’m not the only one.” She chuckled, but the smile soon left her face. “But that morning was bad.”
“You didn’t seem nervous at all.”
“Oh, of course not. Over the years, I’ve become pretty good at putting up a front.”
“I certainly can’t argue with that. I’d say you’re an expert.”
I’d meant it as a joke or even a compliment, but she didn’t seem to find any humor in it. She stiffened and said, “Yeah, well… Anyway, when you came up to me to talk that day, I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t know why you were there—what you wanted. It was a shock just seeing you, and I needed to focus on work. That’s why I walked away.”
“I doubt I would’ve had very many good answers to your questions. It wasn’t a rational move for me to have taken the job.”
“Right,” she said grimly. “They’re probably done cleaning. Let’s go back inside.”
I couldn’t let our talk end so poorly. I walked over to the railing next to her and hurriedly declared, “No, Nicki. Let me explain. I was happy to see you that day. I’d been curious about you for years. And you looked the same…exactly the same. Just as beautiful as ever, but now you were this brilliant adult woman. After seeing you that morning, I knew I’d done the right thing. It was nice just to be near you again.”
As it all burst out of me, her frown morphed into a beaming smile. “I felt the same way.”
The time was ripe for a kiss. But just as I was about to lean in to her, she turned away.
“It just made things worse, though,” she said.
“Why?”
After a quick breath, she exhaled and looked me squarely in the eye. “Juan Carlos has asked me to marry him.”
Marry him?
It felt like I’d been told I was losing a race I didn’t even know I was in.
I didn’t respond; I couldn’t.
Nicki was engaged?
When she saw I wasn’t going to talk, she went on. “It was last year. We’d only been together a few months, but he’s a stereotypical Latin romantic. He said he knew from the beginning. Unfortunately, I was the opposite. I’m never sure about things like that. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I told him I needed time.”
“What about the living together? Are you still going to do that?” Could she d
etect the panic in my voice? They were simple questions, but really I was begging for time.
“That was the compromise I made late last year. I mean…” She glanced wistfully beyond the balcony. “I do love him. He’s a wonderful man, and he’s been very persistent. Any woman would be crazy not to be with him.”
“So why haven’t you found a place?” I took a drink, wishing it was single malt whisky instead of wine. I needed something strong to reinforce my weakening heart.
“That’s Juan Carlos’s question. And he’s right to ask it. It’s been my fault. I could’ve picked an apartment—there are many—but I haven’t.”
“He’s going to live there, too. Why didn’t he find it?” I knew he was a tosspot. “I’d say you have the more important job by far.”
“Yeah, well…there may be a little machismo there. I think the bigger issue is that the more I see you at work, the more distracted I’ve been with him.”
She seemed so uncomfortable as she spoke with me, furtively looking off into the darkness or staring at her shoes as she shifted her stance. I wanted to say something to put us both at ease, so I came up with a most convenient lie. “I’ve had the same experience with Felicity.”
She exhaled with exasperation. “I don’t know what to do. Even if you’re waltzing back into my life just to waltz right back out again, the fact is, I don’t feel for Juan Carlos like I should.”
“Even if you’re waltzing back into my life just to waltz right back out again.” That’s what she thought I’d done to her in school—I’d come into her life, wrecked it, and run back out. No wonder she was so cautious around me. That I could not tolerate.
“I don’t really waltz,” I replied.
“I’m sorry. You get what I mean, though, right?”
Then there were her final words: “I don’t feel for Juan Carlos like I should.” I’d thought the same thing about Muff. I cocked my head. “Sort of. What do you mean ‘like you should’? How should you feel about Juan Carlos?”
“Well, I’ve been with people…I’ve had relationships, but they’ve never felt like what we had together all those years ago. It could just be because we were so young and it was such an intense, short period of time, and maybe I’m romanticizing it. But I’d like it if some part of that feeling—that intensity—was there in a relationship with someone else.”