“Tuesday,” she said. “Or any night after that. That gives us enough time to write a really solid script and learn our lines. This is the second date, right?” She tapped her index finger against her lips. “You’re still getting to know each other. Oh, you should ask Jack for advice. He dated a lot of women that were too young for him.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Jack said. “Thought we’d moved beyond that but I always appreciate your reminders about my history of indiscretion.”
She walked over from the loveseat to give him a kiss. “I’m just saying you’ve probably got some practical advice she can use.”
“Do you want my advice?” he asked me.
“Hell no,” I said.
He shrugged at Caroline, who was now perched on the couch armrest. “She used profanity. The woman means business.”
I picked up my phone and started typing. “Let me see if Tuesday works so that I can sneak out and leave you two to practice your witty retorts before meeting Alexander.”
Caroline grinned. “We await next week with bated breath.”
Alexander was about to run the gauntlet. Lord help him.
Chapter 9
“I have Xanax. You might need it,” I told Alex.
“Eating dinner with your friends is an anxiety-inducing experience?”
“It can be. Definitely more easily managed if you’re not stone cold sober.”
His place was between my condo and Jack and Caroline’s house, and we were heading north during rush hour, so I’d engaged my car service to pick him up en route. Which meant we had plenty of time to sit in the back seat, in traffic, so I could prep him for what he was about to encounter. I felt underdressed, a rarity for me. Caroline almost always kept things casual so I’d settled for a pair of slacks and a wool sweater. Alexander, on the other hand, was wearing a pressed shirt and tie. Clearly he was hoping to make a good impression. On all three of us.
“Christine, I have a vague awareness of who Caroline Gerard and Jack McIntyre are. Unless the rumors of their heroism and humility have been grossly exaggerated in the press.”
If he started talking to Caroline about her exploits, her ego would be inflated beyond compare. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to perform.”
At that, he turned to me. “There are so many directions I could take that comment. I’ll choose to interpret it as platonically as possible.”
I blushed. “Yes, that would be good.”
He put his arm around me. “Is this okay?”
“Fine,” I whispered.
“First date nervousness was expected. But you have to start feeling more comfortable around me. I’m not grading you on presentation.”
“What about poise?”
“Well, yes. If I didn’t critique you on poise and proper grammar I’d be some sort of monster. But overall presentation? Of course not.”
“Are you telling me to calm down?”
“Yes.”
“It’s harder than it looks.”
“I know.” He squeezed my shoulder. “But I’m hoping that your nervousness might be based on you liking me a little.”
I liked him a lot. “It’s not just that. Caroline and Jack and I have been through a lot together and… they were quite close to Tom.” It was the first time I’d said his name out loud to Alexander.
“They don’t strike me as the type of people to make comparisons or judge their dinner guests.”
“They’re not. I just—you’re the first man I’ve dated since he passed and I’m probably looking for excuses to be nervous.”
“Yes,” he said. “You are.” He squeezed my shoulder again. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
*****
I could generally trust Caroline to behave herself around new people, but a combination of months of relaxation and intense psychotherapy meant her aplomb had returned so there were no guarantees. I’d banked on being a proper guest and doing the introductions, but Alexander and I had barely crossed the threshold before she opened her mouth.
“I’m Caroline, Chrissy’s best friend,” she said. “My husband Jack is in the kitchen. He got shot while we were assassinating the president. I repeatedly had the shit beaten out of me by federal agents while they were attempting to extract information about the resistance. You likely know all that but I figured I’d give you some backstory just in case. Saves time.”
Let me crawl into a hole and die, slowly. Very, very slowly.
Alexander appeared to take it in stride. “Greetings, Ms. Gerard. I’m Alex. It is a privilege to be in your presence.” I expected him to shake her hand but instead he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Caroline’s eyes widened. “I like him,” she mouthed at me.
“Maybe you should go help Jack in the kitchen,” I said, resisting the urge to kick her.
“Oh, he’s got it all under control.” She grabbed Alexander’s arm and led him into the living room. “As I’m sure you know, my husband and I are here to scare you off. We’ve stashed one of our equally threatening children upstairs in case we need reinforcement.”
“I anticipated as much,” he said. “Yet I believe you’re doomed to fail.”
“Good response. But you might not be giving us enough credit.”
A jingle of tags and the sound of claws on marble signaled Spencer’s arrival, with Jack right behind her. “Don’t sell Sophie short. That kid can be vicious if given the chance. And if none of the women in this house scare you off, the dog probably will.” He extended a hand, and this time Alexander simply shook it.
“Mr. McIntyre,” Alexander said. “Also an honor.”
“If you don’t call me Jack it’s going to be a long night. Unless you refer to Christine as Madam President.” He turned to me. “Do you make him call you Madam President?”
“That would be rude,” I said.
“And that doesn’t answer my question,” Jack said, winking at Alex.
“I believe so far she’s responded to her first name and ‘hey, you,’” Alexander replied.
He wasn’t taking any of the well-meaning shit they were slinging. Good.
Jack took a seat on the couch, leaning his cane against the armrest. “Sweetheart, can you get Alex something to drink? I want to rest my knee a minute.”
I looked at Caroline in alarm, but she waved her hand and walked over to the wet bar. “Rough PT today,” she explained. “Has nothing to do with him making you a seventeen-course meal.”
“It’s only four courses,” Jack said. “Five if we count the dessert Caroline made, which I’d rather place in my own column since it makes the meal sound much more distinguished.”
“Whiskey neat okay?” Caroline asked, as I helped pour.
“Sounds great.” Alexander took the glass he was proffered before easing onto the loveseat across from the couch, where I joined him. “I read that profile of the two of you in last month’s Vanity Fair. Impressive.”
Jack kissed the side of Caroline’s head as she took a seat on the couch next to him and pressed a glass of whiskey into his hands. “I thought so. The parts about Caroline, I mean.”
Did I look at Alexander the way Jack so often looked at his wife? I’d have to ask her.
“Did you read the one we did a few years ago?” Caroline asked.
“The one where you were draped all over your husband in the conference room in the Pennsylvania Governor’s Mansion wearing that sultry and highly inappropriate evening gown?” I said. “Dear lord, I hope not.”
Caroline closed her eyes. “That dress was gorgeous.”
Jack took a sip of his whiskey. “Deceiving, too. It had a side slit that went up a lot further than the pictures showed. I remember after the shoot—”
“We locked the door to the conference room and had a nice long chat about education funding,” Caroline broke in. “I remember too.”
“I must have missed that article,” Alexander said. “But now I obviously have t
o read it.”
Caroline laughed. “There were a lot of tasteful photos in that one. Including quite a few of Chrissy along with some juicy quotes. I bet we have a copy around here somewhere. You can see us when we were young and spry and eager to believe in the relative goodness of the federal government.”
“Find it after dinner,” I said quickly, not wanting to let her get any ideas.
“One thing you will soon learn is that Chrissy is no fun,” she said. “Please do not let that tarnish your impression of her.”
“I’ll try,” Alex said. All that back and forth but he had managed to stay in the game. Color me impressed.
“You’re only saying that because you saw those pictures of me looking all badass with my rebel uniform and now you’re afraid of me. It’s okay to admit it.”
“Caroline,” Jack said. “He just got here. Don’t chew him up and spit him out until after our seventy-five-course feast.”
My version of tearing someone apart usually involved a few short, scornful jabs and the inevitable sarcastic knockout. Caroline and Jack’s was based solely in self-deprecating humor.
Alexander smiled. “I would appreciate at least one final meal before being consumed by two of America’s political elites.”
“Ooh, we’re elites,” Caroline said. “You know, Santos tried to make elite into a euphemism for people who disagreed with him and were thus somehow un-American, even though he was an elite himself.”
“Which means we’ve brought it back en vogue with a vengeance,” Jack added. “Subversive elitism. It’s a thing.”
“Alex went to Penn,” I said.
Jack nodded. He had a Wharton MBA to go along with his undergraduate degree from Villanova. “That makes him a super-elite subversive.”
“Am I the only person in this room without a degree from the University of Pennsylvania?” Caroline asked.
“Yes.” I turned to Alexander. “We cut her a little slack every now and again because Marquette and Notre Dame are practically real schools now.”
“I feel oppressed,” she said. “Though I am doing my best to reject your pompous Ivy League intellectual aggression.”
“Not much you can do about it, sweetheart.” Jack gave her a challenging, if slightly amused, look. “Unless you want to go back to school.”
“I’m going to get a PhD at Harvard just to wipe those smug looks off all your faces,” she said.
Alexander sank back into the seat cushions as if she’d dealt him a heavy blow. “Not Harvard. How about Brown instead? Then we can at least pretend to maintain our superiority over you.”
“I’m starting to think our subversive elitism might be a tad conceited,” Jack said.
The oven timer rang and Jack got to his feet. A little slower than usual, I noted, but since Caroline wasn’t concerned, I wasn’t going to worry either.
“Need any help with the food?” Alexander asked.
Jack grabbed his cane. “Won’t turn it down. Follow me.”
“He’s so cute,” Caroline mouthed at me, as we watched both men head toward the kitchen.
I refrained from putting my head in my hands, if only because I would have thus gotten a face full of whiskey. It was going to be a long meal.
*****
Dinner conversation was surprisingly… normal. Alexander had the brains to keep up with policy discussions, but Caroline and Jack wouldn’t be interested in rehashing the same topics over and over. Sure enough, they peppered him with questions that had little to do with anything stressful or controversial. Although it wasn’t unreasonable to argue that our personal was now inextricably intertwined with our political, and no amount of time or distance would unravel the two. Alexander was fascinated by the renovations Jack had done to the house, and occasionally threw in a question about our lives in California. For a while I felt like I was trapped in a cross between Meet the Press and a This Old House episode, but they moved on to normal things.
Which was a good sign. If Caroline and Jack were able to engage with Alexander on seemingly pedestrian topics, it meant they approved of him, right? Even the dog seemed to like him, since she’d spent most of dinner skulking around his chair searching for a meal of her own.
Alexander polished off one of the pale ales Jack had provided him. “Fine cooking all around, sir. My compliments.”
“If you find this impressive, wait until you taste dessert,” Jack said. “Caroline has a gift when it comes to preparing incredibly unhealthy, decadent treats.”
“Indeed,” she said. “I bake a lot of things. For a lot of people. Upon request, of course. Just about anything, no matter how complicated or time-consuming.”
She was going to rat me out, I knew it. “Caroline’s skills with a mixer almost make up for the fact that she can’t do much else in the kitchen,” I said.
Caroline raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re one to talk.”
Alexander poked his fork into an asparagus spear. “Christine brought a tiramisu over the other night that was pretty spectacular.”
My best friend didn’t throw death glares. That was my job. Caroline, however, remained absurdly skilled at naïve innocence, enough to make anyone think she was the greenest ingenue. “Oh, really?” she asked. “I must know all the details. Chrissy so rarely bakes for me.”
“You know,” I said. “Tiramisu is Italian for ‘pick me up,’ which doesn’t make much sense since it’s pretty hard to eat it with your hands.”
Nice brick, Christine. Maybe pass to a capable shooter next time.
“It was”—Alexander mimed a chef’s kiss—“restaurant quality.”
Caroline slid her dinner plate to the side and put her chin on her hands. “Tell me more about this wonderment, Alex.”
I saw Jack hide a smile behind his napkin. Dammit, he knew the truth. Hopefully he’d keep his mouth shut.
“The ladyfingers were soaked to perfection. I couldn’t tell if she used cream cheese or mascarpone, but it had a buttery aftertaste so I’m thinking the latter.” He turned to me. “Did you use cream cheese or mascarpone? Some people substitute since mascarpone is so rich.”
“Yes, Chrissy,” Caroline said. “Do tell us which ingredients you used.”
I was a cradle Catholic but had sloughed off my obligations as of late, too disheartened by personal experience to consider making peace with whatever god was out there. And this… this was my atonement. This was my vengeance from on high. I was going to be exposed for the counterfeit tiramisu provider I was. Unless I faked it.
“Mascarpone,” I said confidently. “I never substitute for quality ingredients unless there’s an emergency.”
Jack might have been able to hide his smile but he couldn’t quite smother the guffaw that slipped out. “A wise way to approach things,” he said. “Not just in the kitchen, but in life.”
“That’s deep, Jack,” Caroline said. “Real deep. I want to hear more about this tiramisu.”
“Why would Alex want to talk about last week’s dessert when there’s a chocolate torte waiting for us in the fridge?”
Was Jack bailing me out? Either that or he really wanted a piece of torte. “Don’t get up,” I told him, since that looked like what he was planning to do. He’d had a few drinks. Hadn’t said much about his therapy one way or the other, but he’d grimaced a few times. There was no sense in making him move more than necessary if he was in pain. “I’ll get the torte.”
I expected Caroline to offer to help but she leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach. “You do that.”
I raised a hand as Alexander started clearing the dinner plates. “I’ll get those,” I said. Would that be sufficient penance? Clearing the table and serving dessert?
Caroline smiled. “Relax, Alex. Chrissy’s got this.”
I muttered something indecently profane under my breath as I took the first round of dirty plates to the kitchen. “Thanks for the assistance, Caroline,” I called, before whirling around to find her right behind me.
&nbs
p; “I came to help.” She mimed hitting a home run. “You’re doing great out there, slugger. Knocked it out of the park. Very smooth.”
“You’re a sneak,” I said.
“Oh, hush.” She dramatically swung open the refrigerator. “I came in here to save your ass. I doubt you know what a torte even looks like.”
“You’re mean,” I said.
“Well, yes.” Caroline fetched a stack of dessert plates and tiny forks. “But I’m also hilarious. And,” she added, “I’m going to let Alex help me clean up after we’re finished with the torte. I need to spend a little time one-on-one with this guy.”
“You’ll leave me alone with Jack?”
“And Spencer. She kept begging you to slip her a scrap of meat. Didn’t you hear her puppy whimpers?”
I had. Needless to say, it hadn’t added to the ambiance of the meal. But Alexander gave her a couple pats on the head and she calmed down. “Alex and me and you and Jack. And Spencer under the table. Just like a classic Rockwell painting.”
“Spencer likes him,” she said. “Dogs are excellent judges of character. Her lick of approval means Alex is a good guy.”
“Then why doesn’t she like me?” I asked.
She chortled. “No comment.”
I took the plates and forks out of her hands so she could grab the torte. “Come on, Betty Crocker. Let’s go foist your chocolate monstrosity on the men.”
*****
“I’ve got to fess up, Christine,” Alexander said, once we were safely ensconced inside the car charged with taking us home. “I’m not a political fanboy but I used to read a lot. I still do. I know quite a bit more about your history than I’ve let on.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going, but the revelation didn’t come as a surprise. Alexander was a well-educated, well-read man. He’d been active in certain parts of the Underground. He probably kept track of major political players the way other men managed their fantasy baseball teams. I just hoped that most of what he discovered before meeting me in person was… innocuous.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
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