by Zetta Brown
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in?”
“I’m sure.” I step out of his embrace and he looks concerned until I give him a smile. “This way, we’ll talk . . . and nothing else.”
I decide to let him interpret the “nothing else” part of my statement as I walk ahead of him to the elevator, knowing he will appreciate the presentation my rump makes in my lightweight dress. When I see a quarter on the floor and kneel to get it, the thin material of my dress flitters up, exposing stocking tops and a bit of garter. Jared sucks in his breath and jabs the elevator button with more force than necessary.
* * * *
The car ride is silent except for the music playing on the radio. DeGaulle’s Restaurant is located in a converted warehouse. A red awning and red runner stretches from the door to the curb where a valet waits to park your car. The valet opens my door and, taking his hand, I step out. The night air is crisp and a little breeze from across the river helps alleviate the heat. The valet escorts me to Jared’s side.
“Enjoy your meal,” he says, more to me than to Jared, and gives a slight bow. As we walk to the front door, Jared takes my hands and turns my palms out.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking if he slipped you his number.”
I allow myself a giggle. Even though he smiles, he’s not being entirely flippant. Inside, the lobby is crowded and people sit or stand out of the way of the door. The maître d’, dressed monochromatically in a fine silver-grey suit, shirt, and tie, spots us and comes from around his little podium.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Delaney.” His voice hints at some Iberian coast connection, as does his dark features.
“Hello, Baptiste. May I introduce, Dr. Cavell?”
Baptiste smiles and gives a bow similar to the valet. He turns to consult his book and gives Jared a knowing look that makes me suspicious. Tony said Jared is known “in circles” and now I’m wondering how tight these circles are.
“I see you have salon number three reserved. Excellent choice.” Baptiste raises his hand to summon a willowy brunette straight from the pages of Paris Vogue , who traipses towards us in that bouncy, model-on-a-catwalk way. She wears black linen Capri pants and an elegant but simple white silk blouse, but on her, these simple items look exquisite and rich.
“Celeste, salon number three.”
The woman smiles warmly at us, exposing glossy white teeth between slick red lips. “Will you follow me?” She leads us with Jared bringing up the rear.
DeGaulle’s interior looks like an outdoor Parisian street café. The highly polished concrete floor reflects the soft string lights and paper lanterns, making it look like pavement after the rain. In the center, a row of belle époque townhouses, balconies included, hide the kitchens and you can see the wait staff enter and exit from various doors. At one end of the massive space is a bandstand with a live combo playing jazz.
The three of us squeeze into a small, gilded cage elevator that takes us slowly to the second floor. Although open to the ground floor, there are several doors going around the perimeter. These are private dining rooms, the “salons,” of various sizes and each with a different theme. He whispers over my shoulder.
“I think you’ll enjoy the one I picked.”
Celeste pushes open the elevator door and takes us to the third door on the right. I’m excited because, even as friend to the owner, this is only my second time here and I have never been inside the salons before. Jared opens the door and I step across the threshold.
“Like it?”
He knew I would. The room is straight out of the 1920s, decorated with inlaid wood and chrome polished to a fierce gleam and plush furniture with rounded arms and backs.
“Enjoy your meal.” Celeste’s husky voice comes from nowhere but is heavy with innuendo as she closes the door behind her. For a second I’m apprehensive. Is this a restaurant or has Tony created a front for a cathouse? No, I’m being paranoid. The whole idea is romantic in the extreme.
At one end of the small room sits a round table and two chairs. White china with gold trim, tulip wine classes, and linen napkins folded into swans complete the elegant table setting. A cozy sitting area consisting of end tables with small shade lamps, a sofa, and a coffee table is arranged on an oriental rug before a gas fireplace and hearth providing atmosphere if not heat on this June evening. A panel of buttons and a digital display marks a wall stereo unit.
He goes to the stereo and asks, “What would you like to hear?”
I shrug, still trying to take this all in. “Jazz, of course.”
“Classical, modern, fusion, or acid?”
He smiles at my blank stare and soon I hear Charlie Parker’s saxophone surrounding us. Jared motions for me to sit on the camel-colored sofa. The suede cushions are so soft; this must be what it feels like to sit in butter. I can barely resist melting away. A red leather menu lies on the coffee table. He sits beside me, picks up the princess phone on the opposite end table, and orders a bottle of wine. Then, he makes himself comfortable by putting his arm on the back of the sofa and twisting towards me, but he says nothing. I can sense his thoughts in the dim light and tug the hem of my dress over my knees.
“This is lovely.” I look around the room. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He remains silent, his face a mask in the dim light. Did he bring me here just to stare at me like a specimen under glass? His stillness makes it hard for me to be anything but cordial because what happens over the next few minutes will have lasting consequences. Time to get this over with.
“Tell me about Sarah.”
He lowers his head and sighs. “Sarah and I go back several years,” he says eventually, then settles deeper into the sofa as if preparing for a long ride. He looks at me with a plea in his eyes. “Can I order dinner first?”
I nod and allow him a few minutes to stall, silently enjoying the way his hands grasp the telephone and how his long, solid fingers punch at the tiny buttons. The crispness of his shirt stretches to accommodate the subtle flexing of his biceps. Then it occurs to me that I haven’t told him what I want. I can’t hear what he says, but he is confident enough to order for both of us. I wonder if I’ll like his choice. But Jared oozes with so much carnality and control that, despite my peevishness, I’m getting moist and have to cross my legs. With the ordering done, he’s ready to begin and I, too, nestle into the sofa, waiting for a tale.
“Sarah and I have known each other for about eight years but dated for the last three. When I first came to Denver, I worked in print shops and did design and art tech at community theatres around town. We met during a production of What the Butler Saw .”
There’s a soft knock on the door and a waiter enters with a bottle of wine and glasses. He pours and offers Jared a sample. He approves and waves for the server to fill my glass. Alone once again, Jared gives me my glass and I watch him over the rim as I sip. He twirls the glass stem and stares at the pale rose liquid inside.
“She was dating someone else at the time. Another actor, I think.” He gives a hollow laugh and shakes his head. “Even then I knew I wanted to get next to her but that wouldn’t happen for years. I wasn’t making enough money, yet.” He takes a swallow of wine. From the lack of emotion in his voice, he could’ve been asking for forgiveness in a confessional. “Sarah has a reputation for being an ice queen.”
“Deservedly so,” I quip, remembering our phone conversation, but he cuts me a glare. In fact, he looks insulted, making me speculate about his true feelings for her.
�
�Sorry,” I mumble.
“No, don’t be.” He grabs my hand and squeezes. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“Woman,” he says, looking me straight in the eye, “I fell for you hard and fast. Sure, I’d seen you in the theater before, was intrigued by you. But it wasn’t until we actually talked that I knew I wanted to know more. Sarah never entered my mind.”
I stare back at him not entirely sure how to react and my dubious look must reflect this.
“Eva, judge me if you want, but it’s the truth. You really should be careful what you wish for, because for all her beauty and talent, Sarah is conceited and conventional. Butter won’t melt in her mouth. She’s boring, Evadne. Stale. I curbed some of my more . . . interesting personality traits to please her. But you . . . ”
He squeezes my hand again. “I’ve only known you for a handful of days and you’ve given me more than any woman ever has.”
I can’t imagine how and I raise my eyebrow, hoping he’d explain, but he doesn’t.
“So when did she enter your mind again?”
He thinks for a moment. “Not until we were in my car and heading for the airport.”
I exhale and turn away from him. That’s a mighty long time to forget you have a girlfriend when you’re taking another woman away with you. Rocky relationship or not.
“Wait a minute,” he says and I look towards him. “You think we’re still together, don’t you?”
“She answered your phone and called herself your girlfriend. You called her your girlfriend, too, not your ex. What am I supposed to think?”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes.” I frown. “How long have you been apart?”
He shrugs. “Three, maybe four months.”
“So, this is all pretty fresh in relationship terms.” I nod slowly. “But you still saw her opening night of the play.”
“She really worked hard for that role. I wanted to see.”
I look down at his hand holding mine. “No wonder you bristle when I wisecrack about her. You’re on the rebound and I made a lucky catch.”
His brows come down in a dark angry line over narrowed eyelids and his jaw twitches from gritting his teeth. “God damn it, Evadne. Will you stop with the self-pity shit?” He lets go of my hand to rake his through his hair.
The venom of his outburst makes my throat constrict and Talley’s warning about his temper being on permanent simmer comes back to haunt me. Suddenly, the color and condition of my fingernails become of interest. I start studying my manicure and he—he’s not looking at me, because I don’t feel it. I take a sidelong glance in his direction. He’s lounging back, one arm along the back of the sofa, the other elbow braced on the armrest, his forefinger and thumb making a sturdy, backwards ‘L’ to support his head. Although he faces me, his eyes are averted towards the fireplace. His childlike petulance barely disguises the burning virility underneath. If anything, it enhances it.
“Why did you two break up?”
His gaze slowly slides in my direction, his violet irises partly hidden by half-closed lids, but still bright even in the dimmest light. When he sees me watching him, he shifts in his seat. He reaches for the wine bottle and tops off our glasses.
“We were miserable. Sorta like Charles and Diana. We looked good together but couldn’t stand each other. Sarah wanted to keep up appearances.” He chuckles. “She has plans to go to Hollywood or New York like all actors do. She was getting steady acting and voiceover gigs. I was getting offers for my designs, enough for me to quit my nine-to-five and go it alone. Sarah wanted to start living and looking like the rich and famous. It became an obsession. One night, I snapped.”
“How?”
“I forced myself on her.” He downs half of his glass of wine. “Made her satisfy me for a change. I guess you could say I got carried away.”
I shiver involuntarily. It’s not like I can say I know the man, but from the way he clenches his teeth and drums his fingers on the sofa, this confession is taking more nerve than I’m giving him credit for.
“I won’t plead temporary insanity, because I don’t believe in it.” The rest of his wine makes it down the back of his throat. “I had had enough. Tired of pretending to be perfect. Tired of not being myself.” He rests his gaze on me. “What I did to Sarah was wrong and I can never apologize to her enough for it. If you were anybody else, I wouldn’t be telling you this.” He tries to smile and his awkwardness touches my heart. “The last thing I want is to scare you away.”
Is this what Talley meant when she asked if Jared had scared me yet? I can only look at him and try to absorb it all. He has this mysterious, dark, Byronic air about him, but this is more than I expected and that he’s concerned about my reaction touches me. I take his wineglass and take his hand in mine.
“Did you hit her?”
“Oh, God no. Nothing like that. I just . . . let’s say I decided it was time to get creative.”
“I see. And what happened next?”
He looks at our hands and then at me. “She left. That night. I stayed at home for two days waiting for the police. But that would’ve been too scandalous for Sarah. Her image as a self-styled princess is more important to her. No, instead she wrote me a very long, very persona letter telling me to stay away. So, I did.”
As long as he’s being vulnerable, perhaps now’s the time to match his confession with one of my own.
“Jared, Talley told me about your parents … or lack of.”
Now it’s his turn to look at me, stunned. He’s motionless for what seems like minutes.
“You and Talley covered a lot of ground in a few hours.”
But his annoyance doesn’t deter me. “She also said that’s probably why it’s difficult for you to leave someone behind.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, his eyes turn dull and cold, not with anger, but as if his fire has gone out because his secret is known. But I can’t let his reaction get to me. “Maybe we should stop this.”
From the expression on his face you would’ve thought I told him his best friend just died.
“Eva, don’t . . . please.”
I don’t know what cleaved my heart more: the catch in his voice or his eyes. He looks at me with the eyes of a man who knows what it’s like to be abandoned. It’s easy for me to see him as a four-year-old child right now because, despite being in his early forties, his face still has a boyish charm and a freshness many women would kill for. But what gives his innocence away is the set of his jaw, as if steeling himself for a blow. And after years of disappointment and uncertainty, he has come to expect the worst. Either he’s being sincere or he is the most convincing bullshit artist I have ever seen. His expression combines panic and anguish so pitiful it rips straight to my soul. I can’t take it so I turn away.
“Eva, if Sarah—”
“Jared, this isn’t about Sarah. I’m not Sarah. I’m not an ice princess. But I just don’t think you’re ready to let her go.” I force myself to meet and hold his gaze. “You made it clear a few minutes ago that I better not talk trash about her. Why was she at your place, anyway?”
“It was her birthday. She’d been drinking.”
He looks at me embarrassed and I nod knowingly.
“Did you give Sarah her present in bed?”
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair before replying.
“Eva, Sarah is the past. There is no comparing you with her. I do
n’t want to be anything but honest from now on, because that is how you make me feel. I’ve hurt you and deceived you and all I can offer is my apology and my word never to do it again.” He looks at me and the dim lighting softens one side of his face while keeping the other side dark, hard.
“She wants you back, doesn’t she? Admit it.”
“OK, she does,” he says angrily. “Happy?”
I bite down hard on my lip. I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or frustrated or annoyed. I’ve been second choice many times and have known guys who use women like toilet paper. And while I’m not entirely convinced that Jared’s a compulsive dog, I take a few deep, calming breaths before I speak again.
“Jared, it doesn’t matter how sincere you are or how I’ve changed your life. You say you need me, but if you still want Sarah, I can’t—I won’t compete with an old flame.” I look up and see his intense gaze leveled on me. “Do you want her back?”
“Eva, I don’t just want you for sex.” He sounds insulted and sits up. “Has it ever occurred to you that my relationship with Sarah was purely physical? Despite her lack of enthusiasm and warmth, I only ever wanted her for one thing.” He closes his eyes a moment and when he opens them, they shine with something that I can only imagine the source.
“I know we haven’t been together very long, but from the moment I saw you in the movie theater, my years with Sarah seem wasted compared to the last week. I have fallen in love with you, Eva. Not in lust. I want you to be comfortable around me, to be yourself. Don’t change to fit someone else’s image, it doesn’t work.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you still want to leave me?”
The air in my throat compresses and I can’t help but squeak as his hands tighten around mine briefly before loosening, his thumbs stroking my wrist bones.
There’s a knock on the door. Our dinner has arrived. I watch the waiter come in and place everything on the table. Jared, however, keeps his eyes on me, waiting for my response.