I exasperated myself. How damaged was my thought process? Why did it even bother me?
“Are you here alone?”
While I was staring at the menu, avoiding making eye contact and mentally beating myself up, Jim had managed to snake up next to me. There was nothing left to do but talk to him.
“Um, no. Actually, I’m waiting for a date.”
“A date?” He smiled. It was the same way a shark smiles when he sees an unsuspecting swimmer right above him. “If you’re waiting for a date, why were you checking me out?”
I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know my face was a bright cherry red. “I wasn’t checking you out. You just look familiar to me. I was trying to place where I’d seen you.”
Right then a man walked into the restaurant, getting attention from both of us. Forget what I thought about Jim being a shark. He was nothing compared to the new guy, who wasn’t exceptionally good looking but had presence. He stood in the door for a moment, surveying the place, and stared straight at Jim and me. He nodded and cocked his head, gesturing for one of us to follow him. I was hoping it was Jim. I’ve seen enough crime dramas on TV to know one thing: this guy was mobbed up. He had to be a gangster, or maybe a lounge singer who did Frankie Valli covers. Sometimes gangsters and lounge lizards look the same.
Jim nodded in response, took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope I get a chance to talk to you later…” He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for my name.
“Emily.” I was relieved that Peyton didn’t come flying off my lips, because at that moment, it was a real possibility.
“Pleased to meet you, Emily. I’m Jim. Enjoy your evening.” With that, he was gone.
I wasn’t taking any chances. I flipped up my menu and stared straight ahead. Was the gangster guy really the answer to Jim’s problems? That couldn’t be it; that was just trouble. Finally I got the courage to glance at them again, using my menu for protection. Jim and the gangster seemed to be getting along. They were at ease, talking casually like old friends. Occasionally they would laugh. Maybe the guy really was a lounge singer.
It was then that a hand pulled down my menu and made me scream. Loud. It was really more of a shriek, the kind your horror queens let loose right before they get their necks snapped. Everyone was staring at me, and no one looked more startled than my date. Jim was chuckling at me and raised his glass to “toast” me.
“Jesus! Are you okay?” Rick asked.
“You just startled me.”
He sat down across from me. “I guess.” He looked at me for a second and then smiled. “Emily, you look beautiful. WOW!”
Rick hadn't seen me since “the change,” as I like to call it. He knew old Emily, not new Emily. While I was certainly happy with new Emily, I was a little self conscious about her, too. Everything on me was new, and I didn't think that it was so bad, until right now.
I didn’t know what to say. The wows were making me nervous. I didn't know where to look, either. Suddenly dinner with Rick didn’t seem like such a good idea. I was beginning to feel like I didn’t belong there.
He reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “Emily, when I tell you that you look beautiful, don’t sit there trying to think of a way to shrug it off. Don't be one of those girls who can’t take a compliment. When I say something, I mean it. Is that why you always sit in the corner?”
This wasn’t starting off well. My lip was quivering and I was fighting tears. The truth is he had pegged me right off the bat. I was one of those girls who couldn't take a compliment. My theory is this: girls who can't take compliments are like that because they don't hear them often. When they do, there is usually something attached, a catch of some sort, a condition. Sometimes it’s an “if” that’s attached, and sometimes they're just being used. My personal favorites are the “if’s”: “You'd be such a pretty girl if you would lose weight.” Basically they’re saying, “You’d be pretty if you didn’t look like you. You aren’t pretty at all.” It doesn’t matter which it is, a condition or a catch, they always sting. Girls who can’t take compliments have learned that, if you don’t accept them, they can’t hurt you. Even though I’d been working on a new and improved Emily, compliments still felt like lies.
My self-esteem issues and body image seemed like a lot to dump on someone on a first date. I decided to follow Rick’s advice. A simple “Thank you. You look nice, too” was all I really needed to say.
Rick really did look nice. He was dressed in a pair of khakis and a dark blue shirt that made his skin glow. I was beginning to think he could look good in anything.
“You’re a strange girl, Emily. You’ve got a thing for Benedict Arnold. You wouldn’t let me pick you up. You lurk in corners. And you scare easily.” He leaned across the table and whispered. “I’m going to find out what makes you tick.”
It was official. I was flustered. I said the only thing I could think of. “I don't have a thing for Benedict Arnold.”
“Oh, I think you do. It happens all the time, chicks dig bad boys. I know that. Emily, it's now my personal goal to make sure that you learn that a guy doesn't have to betray his country to sweep you off your feet.”
That really wasn’t going to be a problem for Rick. I’m sure he had a long, illustrious career in feet-sweeping. I could tell. So what was he doing with me? I tried to shake off the feeling. Peyton wouldn’t feel that way. Neither should I. I was there; that was all that mattered.
“So Emily, tell me about you.”
Well, let’s see Rick, I work in the tele-communications industry. For a fee, I provide callers with an erotic conversation while they engage in self-recreational pursuits.
Obviously, “shop talk” was not an option.
There are two types of people in the world: those who are fascinated by my job, and those who are repulsed by it. I didn’t know what group Rick would fall into. It wasn’t a safe topic for a first date, especially when I wanted a second one. I couldn’t ask about his job, either. I was curious, but I’m no fool. Any question about his job would’ve led to a question about mine.
I decided to play it safe. I stuck to family. You can’t muck things up when you’re talking about your mom, and my mom provided lots of material.
“You’d like my mom. Everyone does. She met my dad while she was here with her family on vacation from South Carolina and married him two weeks later.”
“Love at first sight?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it love, but it was somethin’. They got married, had me, and then got divorced. I think they were together for a little more than a year. She works in the spa on a cruise ship. She’s not supposed to hang out with the passengers, but she’s hard to resist.”
“Like you?”
EWW! A line! He was feeding me a line! Worse yet, I was falling for it.
“She’s not like me. She’s a force of nature. She’s outgoing, sassy, and beautiful. She has a man in every port and a story from every cruise. Her bosses love her, too. She broke her arm once dancing on a table in Cancun. She went out with a group of passengers, which is a big no-no, and had a little too much tequila. I think they’d have fired anyone else. She reminds me of a pirate. You know, the Disney kind, very charming.”
“You don’t think you’re charming?”
“Not like my mother.”
“Some guys like someone who’s a little off-beat.”
“Off-beat”? Isn’t that just a nice way of saying “weird”? He said I was a strange girl once already. Now he was implying I was “off-beat”! Was “freakish” too far behind? We weren’t that far from Gibsonton, home to all sideshow performers and carnies. Maybe I should suggest he drop me off there with all the other circus people. Okay, I was over-reacting. Off-beat meant quirky. Quirky could be good. Maybe.
“I want you to go dancing with me. Do I have to invest in tequila?”
“Sangria will do.” Something told me that dancing with Rick would be nice, except for the part whe
re I stepped on him and broke his toes.
Dinner was a success. All the marinara sauce stayed on my plate; there was no sangria mishap. I didn’t dribble, spill, or get anything on “the shelf.” The meal was pretty tasty, too. Peyton demanded that I take risks with the menu. My taste buds thanked her. For the first time, I actually ate a mushroom. I usually limited my fungi consumption to the cream of mushroom soup that my mother used to make for the gravy for her roast beef. As an appetizer, Rick had ordered portabella mushrooms and spinach in a creamy, spicy red pepper sauce with pita triangles. Since our appetizer was so adventurous, at least for me, I stuck to lasagna for dinner.
Rick had a surprise for dessert. We left The Alibi, crossed the street, and went into a little Mom-and-Pop ice cream parlor.
Rick took my hand. “All the ice cream here is homemade. It’s the best ice cream in three counties.”
“I take it that you like ice cream.”
“Love it.” He ordered chocolate chip. I stuck with strawberry. He let go of my hand only to pay the cashier. This date was getting better and better. I was holding hands! Swooning was a possibility.
We sat at a little table in the back. I realized that I knew very little about him. Most of the evening we’d talked about things that weren’t very important.
Since I couldn’t ask about his job, without stepping on a landmine and blowing myself sky high, I played it safe. “Now you know all about my Mom. What about your family?”
“It’s boring.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Well, my parents were high school sweethearts, they’ve been married forever. She stays home, he owns a construction company; and I’ve got three sisters, all older, all mean.”
“They’re mean?”
He nodded. “All of them. They did horrible things to me when I was little. They’re okay now, but you know how sisters are, you’ve gotta watch them.” He thought for a second. “I guess you don’t know. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you? You’re a lonely only.”
“I always wanted a brother or sister, until I went over to my friend Dennis’s house. He and his older sister got in a fistfight over a cookie while I was there. It was way too stressful for me.”
“I’d kill my sister for an Oreo.”
“Dennis nearly did.”
“Good man!”
The cashier came over and gave him a small bag of tiny marshmallows. “I know Dizz will be looking for these.”
Apparently Rick was on the frequent cone plan. But what was the deal with the marshmallow baggie?
He thanked her, checked his watch, and inhaled the rest of his ice cream. “I hate to do this, but I have to get going. I wish I could stay.”
“That’s okay. I knew you had to go to work.”
“I was hoping we could take a walk on the beach, maybe talk some more.”
“I’ve got to go, too. It’s no big deal.”
We walked back to the parking lot in front of The Alibi. He was holding both my hands in front of my car, there was a light breeze and a full moon. A tiny part of me was groaning at the chick-flick aspect of it all. We were saying good-night on the beach under a full moon; how Velveeta was that? Most of me, though, was basking in the romance of it all. He was looking down at me, and everything was silent. If this was a movie, everyone in the audience would be screaming KISS HER! by now.
I couldn’t take the intensity of the will-he-or-won’t-he moment, so I just started talking. “Who’s Dizz?”
He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Dizz is my dog. He loves marshmallows. He’s crazy for sweets.”
He held my hands tighter; then his mouth came down on mine. The kiss was soft, long, and wonderful. He tasted like chocolate chip ice cream. Dizz wasn’t the only one who liked sweets.
“I’ll call you soon. I want to see you again.”
I nodded. I wasn’t able to speak. He’d sucked the air right out of me. I wanted another taste. That’s when I took Peyton to heart. What would Peyton do? She’d kiss him and then some. I might not be as aggressive as she was, but there were some things I could do. There are things a girl has to do, and this was one of those things. I stood on my toes, leaned up, and kissed him right back. I wasn’t going to be the only one who was left breathless.
When I was done, he whispered, “You’re making it hard for me to leave.”
Mission accomplished. Peyton would be proud.
As much as I wanted him to stay, I did understand. He got into his car and I got into mine. He waved good-bye to me before pulling out. I reached for my purse to get out my iPod. I was going to plug it into my lighter and sing along with every cheesy love song on my playlist at the top of my lungs while I drove home.
No purse!
My purse was gone!
Where the hell was my purse?
I did my best not to freak out. I’d been to two places. Some kind soul surely had turned my purse in to someone. It was either at The Alibi or the ice cream parlor. My movie moment wasn’t going to be ruined with a lost purse! I deserved one night with a happy ending, and, dammit, I was going to get it.
Chapter Nine
I walked into The Alibi, and sitting at the bar was Jim Alexander. My purse was right next to him.
He gave me a cagey smile. “Missing something?”
“Thanks. I didn’t realize I didn’t have it until I got in the car.” I reached out to take my purse.
Jim pulled it closer to him, out of my reach. “Come on, Emily. I found your purse. Have a drink with me.” He saw me hesitate. “Doesn’t that make me a hero? Surely sitting down with a hero and having one little drink isn’t a bad thing.”
It wasn’t like I didn’t know him. I probably knew him better than anyone. He just didn’t know that. In fact, it could be fun; it could help me in the future. He had no idea that I was really Peyton. He thought she was in Georgia. She was his peach. I wasn’t his type anyway. He liked two kinds of women: beauty queens and vixens with too much eye-shadow and opened-toed shoes. I didn’t fit the bill. One little drink wasn’t a bad thing.
“I’ll have to drink tea. I’m driving home and—”
“You are one responsible girl, Emily.” We sat across from each other at the same table I’d shared with Rick. “Tell me how your date went.”
“It was good. I had a nice time.”
The waiter came over and Jim ordered another rum and Coke. As promised, I stuck to tea. I couldn’t afford to get loopy on sangria and make a mistake.
“He’s a good-looking guy.” He leaned closer and whispered, “You looked a little nervous, Emily. For a while there, I was worried about you.”
I nodded. “I was nervous. It was our first date.”
“Is there going to be a second date?”
“I think so.” I was delighted when my tea arrived. My mouth was desert dry. I really needed to leave. I was rethinking this whole drink thing. At no point did a conversation with Jim Alexander figure into my happy ending. This had been a stupid move. I must’ve been on a chocolate chip ice cream high when I decided it was okay.
“Where did you go after you left here? It couldn’t have been too far.”
He’d been monitoring how long we were gone?
“We just went to the ice cream parlor across the street.”
He smiled. “That’s the best ice cream on the beach. In the summer, they serve my favorite flavor: peach.”
Oh, God, this was not good. It was as if the powers of the universe had looked into my very worst nightmare and made it all come true. Getting up and running was not an option; I was trapped in a corner. I was going to play this out. I’d recognized his voice because I knew he was going to be here. There was no way for him to know I was Peyton. I just had to be cool. If I could stop my heart from shooting out of my chest, I might be fine.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, I just got a weird feeling, like maybe I left my curling iron on.”
“You looked really scared for a second there.�
�
“What if there’s a fire? It wouldn’t be right of me to make my neighbors homeless because I was out having fun. I really should get home.”
“I don’t think a curling iron can do that sort of damage. And if it could, the place would’ve burned down sometime during your lasagna. I’m glad to hear you’re having fun, though. Tell me about yourself.”
“Everyone wants to hear about me tonight.”
“That’s what dates are for, Emily.”
“You and I aren’t on a date. You’re just a nice man who found my purse.”
He gestured to the waiter that he needed another drink. “I was wondering if maybe you left it on purpose.”
“Ahh, no. I think I should leave now.” I got up to go.
“Please, Emily, I’m sorry. That was a dumb thing for me to say. I haven’t talked to a woman in this sort of setting in a long time and I’m sorry. Let’s start over, okay? I’m Jim Alexander, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Jim Alexander, the destroy-downtown guy?” And four minute phone man? Obviously, I left that part out.
His eyes lit up at the word “downtown.” “So do you love me or hate me? If you work downtown, I know you’ve at least heard of me.”
“I live downtown, too.”
“Then you probably fall into the hate-me camp.”
“With all the stuff going on, my rent’s gone up.”
He sighed. “You’re definitely in the hate-me camp.”
“Not at all, I just have questions.”
“Then ask me. I may not be able to give you the answers you want, but I might shed light on a few things.” He finished his drink and ordered another. I couldn’t remember if this was his second or third. Could it be his fourth? That was something Jim had never told Peyton about: his losing battle with the bottle.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 6