Henry and Gracie

by Marilyn Jeulin

  “Not really. It sounds like you’ve made a home here,” Tom says before touching my shoulder slightly. “How often do you go back to see them?” Tom asks.

  “My parents come every other year. My friends, I don’t see them often because most are married with children. Videocalling is actually a godsend, and, of course, phone calls.” I pull myself away from the window and walk back to the desk. “They’re actually coming over in a few days so we can celebrate my birthday together this year,” I say, sitting down.

  “That’s nice of them.” He walks to the bookshelf.

  “Yes, they’re very kind,” I tell him, watching him pick my old copy of Dudko’s Five sisters from Odessa from my bookshelf.

  “This is an old edition… and in Russian?”

  “It’s a first edition,” I correct him and am slightly amused by the way his whole demeanor changes. He cradles the book in his hands as if it were a newborn before placing it back on the shelf.

  “Sorry…”

  “It’s okay. You can look at it, just be careful. It was a gift,” I say, failing to add it was from Henry.

  “Expensive gift,” he says, deep in thought before walking back to the chair he’d been sitting on.

  “I guess.” I type some of the information that was missing from his file in the computer. Once I do that I glance in his direction. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, just wondering what we should have for dinner.” He touches his stomach and sighs. “I’m super hungry as it is.”

  “There’s a cafeteria on the ground floor,” I say.

  “I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

  The knock on the door distracts my mind from Henry, who’s suddenly crawling through my thoughts, thanks to the damned book on the shelf. “Come in,” I call as Leticia pushes the door open.

  “Oh, good; Tom, can I steal you away for a moment?” she asks and Tom arches an eyebrow, but stands up just the same. “My daughters would like to meet you,” she explains.

  “Of course, that’ll be great,” he says enthusiastically. Surely, the girls will fall in love with him as soon as he starts talking to them.

  The thought spins around my head before I laugh, and then cover my mouth looking around my deserted office. Nice guys make great bad guys. No one expects that at the end of the movie.

  Leticia opens the door again as I sit up straight, as if I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Gracie, you have a visitor.”

  “Who?” I ask, feeling my stomach tie in painful knots.

  Leticia and Tom walk away and I look around the room to try and tidy up my desk, or do anything that demonstrates how much I’ve been working and not thinking about the idiot.

  “Hey,” Henry’s voice says when he closes the door behind him.

  I can smell his cologne, and I’m sure that he’s wearing his puppy dog eyes, which will probably make me melt like butter on a hot pan. I refuse to look his way, instead busying myself straightening my desk.

  “I’m busy, Henry.” Even though I don’t want to look at him, that’s short-lived. When my eyes meet his, I instantly regret it as nothing could have prepared me for the cold stare in his eyes.

  “I can see that.” He looks over his shoulder to the window from where I can still see Tom and Leticia. He then looks back at me.

  “So, then, what are you doing here?”

  “Alexa lost her keys. I would like to get the spare ones that you have until I can get her a new set,” he states with such simplicity that for a moment I wonder if he’s really talking or my overactive imagination is filling in the blanks.

  The words are jumbled up in my mind: keys, spares, new set. However, there is one word, a name that pops up. “Alexa?” I repeat, confused and rooted to the spot.

  “The leggy blonde from Ally Pally.” He cocks his head to the side as something inside me burns.

  The burning sensation in my stomach is followed by that empty feeling when you jump into the water. It takes a minute to understand what I’m feeling as my eyes prickle. The walk from the desk to the coat rack where my bag hangs seems interminable. I grab the key ring he bought for me almost nine years ago and then turn to look at him. Not sure when I lifted my hand, but I see the key ring flying across the room before it hits him right on the left eyebrow. There’s a small cut and some blood oozes out of it, but I feel nothing.

  Henry, true to form, doesn’t react. He simply picks up the key ring from the floor before offering the most sarcastic smile. “Thank you.” He turns around and walks out of the room without another explanation and slams the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Marquez, but your mother is on line two,” my secretary says, opening the door a few seconds after Henry’s gone.

  “Tell her I’ll call her back,” I say, trying to understand what just happened as the pain turns into numbness and disbelief.

  “I’m sorry, but you said that the last three times,” she insists as I take a deep breath.

  “Fine.” My eyes settle on the phone before I pick it up. “Hi, Ma.” I clear my throat, trying to sound as normal as possible.

  “Darling, how are you? Are you busy?”

  “I was about to take a break,” I lie smoothly, sitting down as I look out the window.

  “Great, so Diana and Bernie are coming over in a few days. So I’m taking advantage of that in order to send you a care package with them,” she says excitedly, and I know she’s probably bought the whole candy aisle at the local supermarket.

  “Thank you, Ma, that’s really nice of you.”

  “Diana and Bernie told me that they are excited about the party. Do you have a date?” she asks casually and I can’t help but smile.

  “Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

  “What about your friends, Henry or Franky?” she asks and I take another deep breath in.

  “Franky’s gay and married… and Henry.” I pause, shaking my head, and trying to steady my voice. “I think he’s got a date already for that day.”

  “Ah, that’s sad. Is there someone else? You shouldn’t arrive at your thirtieth alone,” she says. “I mean, you could even invite a girl…”

  “Mom!” I laugh, shaking my head before rubbing my temple. “I’ll see what I can do. If I don’t find an old-fashioned date, I’ll just hire a man. Okay?”

  “No, don’t you dare,” she says, but I swear, sometimes I wonder if doing so will be better than trying to find a date.

  “No, just teasing you, Ma,” I reply.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Love you!”

  “Love you, too, Ma.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I press the button to talk to my assistant, making sure that I don’t sound too bitchy. “Hold my calls for the rest of the afternoon, will you? I still have to email Candy and go over Darío Luna’s new contract for the fall campaign.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Marquez.”

  My mind races with questions as I stare blankly at the page in front of me. The words are there, but I don’t seem to grasp their meaning. I force myself to stop thinking about what just happened. Half of me burns like a fire pit of discontent, while the other half is trying hard to hold on to what little sanity’s left. And then there’s the inexplicable pain tainted with the dark hues of betrayal scratching viciously at my heart.

  Why do I even feel this way? I shouldn’t feel this way when I know this was bound to happen.

  The last year has been a long parade of closeness and what-ifs that never materialized, and today just showed me why that never happened. Why this relationship, this friends-with-benefits must draw to an end before the pain is far worse than now. The warring sides of my brain aren’t helping. I force myself to re-read the beginning of the contract, but only one thing is clear: It’s going to be a long afternoon.

  ***

  A knock on the door pulls me out of the special place called concentration. I send the last email of the day before I look to the do
or. Tom’s standing there wearing a light blue button-down shirt and jeans.

  “Are you done?” he asks from the door and I nod.

  “Just need to print something, sign it, and give it to Leticia,” I click on the print icon before walking to the printer.

  “No problem,” he says, leaning against the door frame.

  Once I grab the papers and sign them, I move back to the computer to save the other million documents I have open and finally turn it off. I search for my coat and notice that he’s already holding onto it. I mumble a lame thanks as he helps me with it before I grab my purse and the papers for Leticia, hoping that I’ve not forgotten anything.

  “Let me leave this in Leticia’s office, and then we can go,” I say, glad that Andrew’s gone for the day.

  ***

  I should have known by the small yet expensive restaurant that Tom led me to, that his idea of a good time would involve copious amounts of champagne and foie gras, as well as caviar and blinis. We sit in a booth in what is perhaps the trendiest Russian-slash-French restaurant in London: Moscua. This is the same place that Leticia has been trying to book for months, and much to her chagrin, hasn’t been able to do so.

  “Leticia’s going to be so jealous.” I look around at the pictures on the walls. Most of them are of Russian landmarks and some of the metro stations. When my eyes return to Tom, he’s giving me a quizzical look. “She’s been trying to book a table for quite a while,” I explain.

  “Oh, I’ll get her one. The manager is my cousin, but she’s not working today.” He tells me before lifting the champagne flute to his lips.

  “Oh, so you pulled family strings?” I tease him, watching his guilty-as-charged smile. “Well, it has a great atmosphere.” My eyes move around the place. It definitely reminds me of a club.

  In a far corner of the place, there’s a Russian band playing traditional songs with balalaikas. There are girls dancing around the bar, and the servers and hostess are dressed in traditional clothes according to region, as the hostess explained when we were lead to our table.

  “Later on at night, they turn part of the restaurant into a dance floor.” He leans closer to me, before abandoning that idea and simply moving the chair next to mine.

  “Are you a clubber?” I ask, surprised. He shakes his head.

  “Not really. I like music and dancing, but I prefer to embarrass myself in the comfort of my own house,” he admits. “What about you?”

  “I’d rather ice skate.”

  “Really?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. “Ice skating?”

  “Yes, I love it,” I admit. “Unfortunately, I don’t get to do it very often.”

  “Why not?”

  “No time.” I fake pout.

  “I see. Maybe we should go ice skating, though I’m not very good at it.”

  I move my hands away from the table when the main courses are placed in front of us. Once the server’s gone, I reach for my napkin and then notice Tom’s eyes on me.

  “So, what happened with Henry?”

  My eyes glue to the food, giving me a moment to compose myself before I shrug. “Nothing.” I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile before returning my eyes to the food and start digging in, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions.

  “After he left, you looked crushed.” He frowns as my body freezes, and I swear my skin turns to frost.

  “You saw that?” I ask, because I feel that throwing a set of keys at a friend’s head isn’t really the best thing to do in front of a new client.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, it looked as if he deserved it.” He shrugs.

  “I really hope that doesn’t reflect badly on me.” I try to make light of all of this, because the last thing I want to do right now is think about what this will mean for me and Henry in the long run.

  “In that case, we should talk about something else. How’s your food?”

  I take a bite and chew for a while before nodding. “It’s very tasty.”

  “Excellent,” Tom agrees before drinking some more of the champagne. “So, what sort of things do you like to do, besides ice skating?”

  “Reading, playing the piano, I love going to the movies, the theater, walks in the park.”

  “Do you read a lot of plays?” he asks before lifting his glass to his lips.

  “I read everything, as long as it’s good. Young adult, adult, new adult, fiction, historical, nonfiction, plays, movie scripts. I don’t really mind the subject as long as it keeps my attention.”

  “What about music?” Tom asks before having more of his food.

  “Are you interviewing me?” I ask with an uncomfortable laugh.

  “Maybe.” He grins before winking my way.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I don’t know how I feel about the line of questioning, but I guess it’s only fair that he’s interviewing me. After all, we’re going to be working together, hopefully for many years to come. A soft giggle escapes my lips before I answer.

  “Music… I guess… same answer,” I tell him as he arches an eyebrow. “The same, though I do have a preference for swing music and classical.”

  “Swing music, really? I never had you pegged for someone who was into old music,” he says before frowning. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “I know, it’s lame…”

  “No, I actually love swing,” he says before he has some of his drink and settles the glass down. “There’s a club in North London…”

  “Patty’s 1940’s,” we both say at the same time.

  “So, you’ve been there?” he asks.

  “I’m friends with Patty.” I nod, perhaps too enthusiasticly, as I answer.

  “I went to school with her brother.”

  “Wow, small world,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

  “I guess you’re going to Miller’s Night?” he asks, searching my eyes. I force mine away, letting them scan the restaurant instead.

  “I’m really hoping I can convince my friends to come with me once they get here in a few days.” I frown, thinking Diana and Bernie won’t want to go. They hate swing music. I guess they still haven’t forgiven me for forcing them to watch Swing Teens with me when we were younger. I’d stolen the old VHS tape from my mother’s personal library and then made them watch it three times in a row.

  “So? Ditch them.” He runs a hand through his blonde locks.

  “You don’t know my friends. It’s pretty hard to ditch them.” I tell him, amused by the thought. Bernie and D would probably fret so much they would end up throwing me the worst party just to spite me.

  “What about this?” He leans closer as if he’s about to disclose a big secret. “You tell them we’re going dancing, and if they want to come they can, but otherwise, you can be my partner for the night.”

  “The moment they find out that you want to go dancing and I’m enabling you, they’ll come.” I’m sure that they’ll squeal and scream like crazy fangirls.

  “Hey, this is the best plan in the world,” he reassures me with a wink before tucking into his food.

  By the time the dessert arrives, Tom’s been telling me all about the latest book he’s read. Some sort of romance and spy games, which he hopes gets made into a movie. He would love to star in it as Anatoli Zapolski, the spy with the heart of gold.

  “What was the last book you read?” he asks.

  I finish the last bite of my vodka infused crème brûlée and let a sigh escape my lips as I think hard about the last thing I read for pleasure. “The last book I read was about Eva Peron,” I tell him before wiping my mouth with the napkin.

  “She was a fascinating woman.”

  “Oh, she was amazing.” I nod. “That’s why I hate the musical. I guess we should get that out of the way, so that you know that the person representing you hates what they’ve done to Eva Peron in that musical.”

  “Fair enough.” He chuckles. “I feel like I should confess to playing the Che when I was on my
last year at R.A.D.A.”

  “So, you can sing?” The surprise in my voice makes him laugh.

  “I’m not that great, but I get by…”

  “I’m sure you’re a good singer, most actors are,” I tell him, pushing the empty crème brûlée pot away from me.

  “I’m very touched by your apparent blind faith in my singing abilities.”

  “You’re a talented actor, you might be better than you think.” He shifts in the chair, uncomfortable. “I’ll stop praising you now; I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  “We need more champagne.” He looks around for a waiter.

  “No, we don’t.” I chuckle before moving closer to him. “Will you sing something later on for me?” I ask as his ears turn red.

  “You’re terrible.”

  “Oh, come on, there’s a piano by the entrance of the restaurant,” I say, trying to call on the waitresses.

  “No.” He pulls my arms down before shaking his head. “You’re seriously a very bad influence,” Tom says, wagging his finger at me before I take it in my hand.

  “Come on, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then expect me to forget about it.”

  “Well, it was a slip of the mouth,” he counters and I pout.

  “Fine, fine, don’t pout. I hate that. You girls have way too many weapons at your disposal to use against us.”

  “Us girls? What about you guys?”

  “Don’t try to turn the tables around. A guy pouting never has the same effect as a girl.”

  I blink, staring at him before I pout again.

  He sighs heavily before looking away. “Now, you’re just being mean.” A smile plays on his lips before he glances my way.

  “How am I mean?” I laugh, but suddenly stop when Tom leans ever so close I can see the way his eyelashes curl.

  “Because doing that just makes me want to kiss you,” he says in a husky voice as the alcohol fueling my blood spreads under my skin like a wildfire.

  “Oh,” the word falls from my lips in a breathless whisper.

  Tom stares at me for a moment before he tucks the lose curl of fiery red hair behind my ear. “Leticia warned me about this,” he mutters when the check arrives and the waitress gives me the dirtiest of looks.