My emotions had taken a beating, and now they’d been tossed into a blender. Divorce meant Rick would be free. But what did I care? I was here for a weekend.
I stood up again. “Seems you’ve resolved your situation,” I said. “I need to talk to some other folks. I’ll see you around.”
She seemed to ignore me, staring across the room, a little smile on her lips. I glanced toward where she was looking. The guy headed our way had to be Chip Alstead. He was Ken to her Barbie, all blond highlights and rippling muscles, with the kind of definition you can only get at the gym. Nothing like Rick, who was rock hard from work, and dark as a gypsy.
Heading toward the stairs I passed the waitress, her tray loaded with drinks, including two cosmos. I tossed a ten on her tray, took my drink, and wished Jen a colossal headache tomorrow.
Downstairs, Ted the bowling alley manager grabbed my elbow. “Come on, Dorothy, let’s boogie.” He started to tug me toward the dance floor. I’d been pulled around enough.
“Oh, no, please. I don’t dance.” I tried to pry his fingers loose. He wasn’t gripping me hard, but he was tenacious.
“Sure you do.”
The loudspeakers started to blare “Rhythm Dancer.”
Someone yelled, “Electric Glide,” and seats all around emptied as my former classmates turned into hopping, gyrating, cowboy animatronics. I gave up and started to dance next to Ted, trying vainly to keep up with the shimmying and walking in step. Ted was surprisingly good, and I told him so.
“Marching band, after I wrecked my knee junior year,” he yelled over the deafening music. “I played the clarinet.” Honestly, it explained a lot.
As we turned and swayed in unison toward the back of the room, I caught a glimpse of a rawboned blonde talking to Alma by the front door.
My heart pounded, not from fear, but from apprehension. If Alma was talking to Dorothy, I’d just walk right past them and hail a cab. Who me? Chicken? You bet. The old, nonconfrontational Cali had leaped to life again.
Except for Rick and Sue Ann, no one had recognized me, but it was two too many. I realized that I was planning an escape route, and it made me stop. I was back on the edge of the dance floor, where bad dancing held sway.
Twenty years from now when the survivors met again, arthritis might keep some of them on the sidelines, or at least calm some of the offbeat flailing that was going on. For now, good taste took a beating as my classmates boogied. The Electric Glide was beyond the skills of a lot of the folks there, probably more to do with alcohol consumption than lack of dance ability.
I was no dancing queen, but I’d picked up some low-key moves in New York, enough to get me through dancing situations without looking like an idiot. A little shuffle, a hip swivel, a shoulder roll, and I looked nonchalant and sophisticated, if no actual dance steps were involved. My Cuban DNA had somehow omitted the Cuban rhythm gene, and I tried not to show off what I didn’t have.
I was close enough to the front doors to see the wreaths of smoke from the exiled tobacco addicts. Alma stood by the waiter station podium at the front door, speaking to the tall blond woman.
Kalucheck, I was sure of it. My party was over, not that I’d had any fun. I wished Sue Ann had told me what the filmmaker looked like.
I danced on, trying to keep the woman in view. If any accusatory glares came my way, I was ready to vanish. The line dance turned out to be a pretty good hiding place.
Warm hands encircled my waist, growing hotter as body heat penetrated the thin silk of my dress. I glanced to my side, but Ted had boogied into a different line.
“You didn’t used to dance, but baby, look at you now.” The words were spoken next to my ear, hot breath caressing my jaw. I didn’t have to turn to know who’d spoken. Knowing that he was married didn’t keep my body from reacting. I felt my nipples harden, and my knees felt weak.
I forced myself to keep moving. To the right, to the left, swivel my hips. Except that the hip swivel brought my ass up against him as he danced close behind me. Basta.
I turned around. He was laughing, enjoying the silliness around him. His hands stayed at my waist, forcing me to lift my arms. Curious eyes turned our way. Someone was bound to recognize me. I had to lay low, not make a spectacle of myself. Basta ya. Enough.
“Why did you stop?” He didn’t seem concerned.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” I said. My voice, pitched higher so that it would carry over the noise of the dance floor, rang out in the sudden silence. The song had ended.
The dancers’ wide eyes went from me to Rick and back again. This was just as good as a fat cheerleader, as far as they were concerned. Ricky Lake–caliber drama on the reunion dance floor.
Laughter pealed from the bar. Jen staggered to the edge of the dance floor, a cosmopolitan in each hand. She sipped from one.
“Gotta hand it to you, Rick, you make it too easy.”
Rick’s face looked like a granite carving. “Jen, you’re drunk.”
“Damn straight. I’m drunk, and you’re putting the moves on Dorothy Kalucheck.” She laughed again.
“You’re wrong,” he said quietly. He reached forward to take one of her drinks, but she held it back, out of his reach. He would have had to rub against her to get it. Instead, he stood back and dropped his arm.
Jen’s drunken smile turned cruel. “Is he good, Dorothy? Did he get you there?”
“Nothing’s happened, Jen. I was just upstairs with you. Remember what we talked about?” I kept my voice level, but loud enough that everyone else could hear, too.
Her eyes focused on me, and her smile faltered. As I’d hoped, she was remembering that she confessed her divorce plans to me. She frowned.
“That was confidential, right?”
“Of course, it was,” Alma said, sweeping her friend up in her arms and moving her off the dance floor. “Everyone dance, it’s still party time!” She shot me a look and jerked her head sideways. Follow me.
“Excuse me, Rick. I’ll be right back.” I hurried after them, wondering what in the world I’d gotten myself into.
Alma had stuffed Jen into a booth and was bullying a waitress into bringing black coffee. Jen had collapsed into the booth, her head lolling back, eyes half-opened, and a triumphant smile on her face.
“Gotcha,” she said. “Weren’t you surprised, Kalucheck? Screwing Rick. Ha.”
“I sure was surprised, Jen. What made you say that?”
“Shush, Jen, you don’t have to answer.” She turned to me. “Dorothy—I can call you that, right?”
I nodded.
“Dorothy, Jen’s under a lot of pressure. She’s not herself tonight. I’m sure I can trust you not to use this to make some kind of point in your documentary.”
“I can’t promise anything, Alma.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected me to say no to her. “Well,” she said, her smile faltering. “Well.”
“I’ll talk to you later. I still have that list you gave me.” I gave her a little wave, turned on my Jimmy Choos, and walked back to the other room. Rick quickly turned and pretended to talk to Zack at the bar.
“Too late,” I said. “I know you were eavesdropping.”
“All taken care of?” he asked. His eyes held a million questions, but he kept them to himself. Discreet, unlike his wife. I corrected the thought. Soon to be ex-wife.
Rick didn’t know, and it wasn’t my place to tell him, but the words were like poison ivy in my throat. Itchy and toxic. I longed to get them out.
Chapter Six
“I was only worried about you, beautiful.” His hands, large and capable, were at my waist, fingers splayed, pressing my ribs and holding me in place. I wanted to stay there and enjoy the feeling, but I was aware of being watched, and that the bitch queen was only thirty feet away and would enjoy catching us like this.
Beautiful. He’d called me beautiful. My heart lurched. “Jen’s just drunk. Alma’s got it under control.”
Sue Ann walked by,
then stopped, eyes fixed on Rick’s hands at my waist.
“Well, you two didn’t waste any time getting reacquainted,” she said.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Rick said.
“Hush, both of you,” I said.
Sue Ann laughed and moved on.
I watched her disappear into the crowd. “She recognized me earlier. She’s been to my shows in New York.”
“Ah, I see. She can tell everyone who you really are.” He grinned. “Like that’s a sin.”
“You don’t get it, Rick. I’m supposed to be this Kalucheck woman.”
“Right, but you’re not, so Sue Ann is actually a problem, because she knows that you’re a real success, not a phony, but that you’re a phony, because you’re hiding your real success. Did I get that right?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Nope. Are you?”
“No, of course not.” I remembered the bet made by my friends back home in the Bronx.
“Then why keep your success a secret? I’d be bragging all over the place.” He looked at the crowd of thirty-somethings that now filled the bar. “Want me to make an announcement? I’ll brag for you.”
“Don’t you dare.”
I followed him back around the bar and stopped myself from wringing my hands. Why still pretend to be Dorothy Kaluchek? Why be scared of two average women? I was disappointed at my lack of courage—okay, my knee-knocking fear—but it didn’t make it any less real. I was here to get over it.
It didn’t help that Rick was standing very close, filling my senses. The scent of his leather jacket mixed with a soapy, just-showered aroma and a hint of pure man. My libido, at war with my cowardice, offered a mutually agreeable solution. Escape. Well, escape and sex, except that he didn’t know about Jen. He thought he was still happily married.
“Let’s go upstairs and talk.”
His eyebrows climbed. “What’s upstairs? First you want to know if I’m drunk, then you want to drag me upstairs.” He shook his head, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cali, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Get over yourself,” I said, laughing. But the laugh didn’t sound sincere. It sounded nervous as hell. “And don’t call me—that name.”
Two women pushed past us, recounting a story about their junior year cheerleading tryouts.
It occurred to me that time might be my best revenge. The girls who had tormented me in high school had fallen, hard, from their pedestals. The cheerleader goddesses were Wal-Mart moms, wearing enough eyeliner and dark shadow to supply a Goth nightclub for a month. I couldn’t say the same about the guys. Then, I’d been invisible to them, and now they were invisible to me.
Except for Rick. He had come to the school library every afternoon to do homework. When he tired of math or chemistry, he’d lean on the counter and talk. Once, he’d looked for me and found me shelving next to my book-laden cart. My heart still pounds, thinking about it.
When I noticed the books he’d chosen to check out, he put a forefinger to his lips, requesting my silence, and touched that fingertip to my lips. It was intimate, and the warmth of his finger on my mouth featured in my fantasies to this day. Not to mention what happened later.
The bartender put another mojito before me, unasked. He met my eyes and smiled, then spoke to Rick. “Hey, man. Can I get you a drink?”
He nodded. “Whatever you’ve got on draft, Zack.” He gestured toward the departing bartender. “His older brother works at my garage.”
“So the garage is yours now?” No need to tell him that Jen had filled me in.
His eyes darkened. “Dad died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry. He was a nice guy.” My hand moved to touch him lightly, as if to reinforce my sympathy.
He watched my finger touch him and draw back. “Thank you,” he said.
I couldn’t tell whether he was thanking me for the touch or the expression of sympathy.
“So, where are you now?” he asked. “Paris? Milan?” A beer appeared in front of him.
“I work in New York.”
“As in the city?” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a slim wallet, and placed a couple of bills on the bar. Zack swept them up as he walked by.
“As in the city.”
“You one of those bridge and tunnel people?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re pretty snobby for someone from Elmwood Park, Illinois. I live in the Bronx.”
He frowned.
“It’s not all Fort Apache and burnt-out buildings, Rick. I live in a really nice neighborhood. Trees, houses, friendly neighbors.”
A lazy smile crawled across his face. The kind that used to make me stop breathing. I inhaled. Just making sure.
“Sounds like here. Like home,” he said, drawing my hand into his. It felt really good.
I glanced around nervously, sure someone would notice, but the dancing had degenerated further. I didn’t recognize the mob’s steps anymore.
“For me, home is New York. Last time we spoke, you wanted to leave Elmwood Park.”
Rick pushed a hand through his hair, giving him an uncharacteristic, nervous look. Or maybe it was anger, so in keeping with his high school persona.
“I did want to leave, but not as far as New York. After college, I was offered a teaching position in Cleveland. Almost got there, too.”
“Was that when your father got sick?”
He nodded, his mouth a grim, straight line. “Yeah. I took care of him, and then when he died, and I tried to close the shop, I realized that his employees would be out of work. Some of them had been working for my old man since I was a little kid.”
“I’m sorry.” His compassion had kept him from selling the shop. I should have known.
“I figured that if I had to keep the place, I may as well make it profitable. Dad wasn’t one for computers or marketing ideas, so it didn’t take much to make a big difference in the bottom line.”
I laughed.
“What?” He scowled at me.
“You. Saying ‘bottom line.’ It doesn’t fit the kid I knew.”
“It does, believe me. I live and breathe the bottom line.” He stared into space. “You know, I never thought I’d end up like this. You’re right. I wanted to leave Elmwood Park. But I play a role in this community. People look up to me.” He shook his head. “I never thought that would be important, but it is.”
I bit my lip, thinking of how little I enjoyed my success. Fulfillment eluded me, except for my work on Cali E Designs, which wasn’t successful. Yet.
“I turned Dad’s little shop into a chain, and added two car dealerships,” Rick said. “People look up to me.”
I pondered this new Rick, evaluating his clothes, shoes, and haircut. I didn’t know why I’d missed it earlier, since he was dressed expensively. He didn’t act or dress like an underachiever. Somehow, it made me sad.
“I love your new look, but I sort of miss your Mohawk,” I said.
Overhead, Culture Club’s Boy George warbled, “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “It was cool in the summer, but I don’t think my customers would understand. Besides, there’s a new generation of kids getting into the old music. They’d think I was strange. A has-been.”
“You’re hardly old,” I said, irritated. If he was old, what did that make me?
His smile said he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Let’s go upstairs. You were there earlier, weren’t you? What’s up there?”
I shrugged. “Pool tables, video games. The restrooms are up there, too.”
“Ever shoot pool?”
My eyes widened. “Me?”
“What was I thinking? Little miss dress designer wouldn’t be caught dead with a cue in her hands. Come on, I’ll teach you.”
Why ruin his enthusiasm with the truth? I kept my mouth shut and climbed the stairs, admiring his backside and ignoring the weight of the stares drilling into my back. I was probably
being sized up as a possible Jerry Springer contestant. First Jen, then Rick. What’s that Kalucheck woman up to?
The pool tables were all in use, so we strolled around the room, joining the knots of people playing video games.
When we’d made a circuit of the entire room, Rick headed purposefully toward one of the corners, I followed, and was surprised when he opened a door marked EXIT. Inside, narrow concrete steps led up and down. A bare lightbulb provided enough light to read a small metal sign on the wall. It read ROOFTOP ACCESS, with an arrow pointing up.
“Let’s see what kind of view we’ve got from up here.” Rick started up the stairs, then returned and took my hand in his. “Come on, California. It’s an adventure.”
“It’s probably against the law to go up there.”
“I didn’t see a sign saying so, did you?” He tugged on my hand, but I didn’t need convincing. We almost skipped up the short flight, and then we were through the door, and onto a gravel-topped flat roof. I took my shoes off and picked my way over the gravel. It was windy up here, and colder than it had been earlier.
A small park bench and round glass-topped patio table with four wrought-iron chairs were proof that this was a regular destination, maybe for the restaurant staff.
Rick dragged the bench close to the roof edge and we sat side by side, feet propped on the low wall. The view wasn’t so great, just more buildings and the night sky, but it was quiet. Rick pulled me close, his arm around me, and I snuggled into his warm, masculine chest.
I shivered a little and he sat up, releasing me briefly while he took his jacket off and draped it over us. For a moment after, we enjoyed the silence layered over the street sounds and faint music that rose from below.
“Why did you come back, Cali?”
His question took me by surprise. “The reunion, of course.”
“You didn’t come back for the tenth.”
“I wasn’t ready. But this year, I wanted to find out what happened to everyone. To you.”
“Then why pretend to be someone else?” He shifted in his chair. Our knees touched, and he didn’t move his away, so I didn’t move mine, either. He reached for my hand.
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