The Interview

by Alice Ward

  “I’m sure the West Coast doesn’t offer anything near the Broadway experience, but at least they’re not completely devoid of true acting artistry out there.” It was a poor attempt at a sarcastic joke, but I was grasping at straws.

  He didn’t bite. “I guess.”

  “I mean, you can’t hate California altogether, right? You said you fell in love with theater there. And if your very first performance on a Broadway stage is any indication, there’s at least a minute amount of talent to be found. In Sacramento, anyway.”

  “My first performance on Broadway was The Gingerbread Tales.” He leaned his cheek on a single finger. “It closed after two months.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I did know. Tate McGrath had been on my radar well before he’d even scored the part in The Gingerbread Tales, back when he was still gracing off-Broadway stages, and I’d practically begged my editor to let me review the show when it opened even though there was virtually zero buzz surrounding the production. “I was there the first night.”

  He lifted both brows again. “Were you?” He didn’t seem honestly interested in my response.

  I nodded.

  The waitress, Celeste, returned to our table, a steaming dish in one hand and a pair of small plates in the other. She placed a plate in front of each of us, then lowered the food onto the table’s exact center. I was overcome with the aroma of garlic, butter, and herbs.

  “Do not eat yet,” she commanded.

  I sat very still as she strode away, almost afraid to watch her leave in case she spun around and scolded me for moving, like a strict schoolmarm.

  Tate cleared his throat. “She’s just getting the wine.”

  “Right.” I closed my hands together in my lap and eyed the appetizer. Michel had said something about escargot, and I was certain that’s what I’d just been served. Small, round cubbies were formed throughout the bottom of the dish, which resembled something like a misshapen ceramic frying pan, and dark spirals swam in the garlic butter sauce throughout. My parents had served escargot on occasion during the catered parties I’d mentioned to Tate earlier, but I’d always foregone that particular delicacy because I’d been unable to get past the reality that escargot, no matter how delicious, was actually snails. Now, however, I was pretty sure I was going to have to try it. Disappearing in the backyard while the hors d’oeuvre trays made their rounds wasn’t an option tonight.

  Celeste reappeared with a bottle of white wine. She silently poured a perfect four ounces into each of our waiting wine glasses and disappeared without so much as a smile, let alone a perfunctory, Enjoy. I plucked my fork from the selection of silverware laid out for me and waited for Tate to start.

  “Ladies first.”

  Damn. There was no smooth way around this.

  “Um…” I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a murmur. “This lady has never had escargot.”

  “Because it’s snails?” A strand of humor had returned to his face, and I felt my stomach loosen at the sight.

  “Yeah.” God, the relief in my tone was obvious, and I prayed he didn’t hear it. “I’ve had a few opportunities to try it growing up, but I always conveniently occupied myself with other things when Mom selected that particular appetizer for the evening.”

  His mouth twitched. He was holding back a smile, but I could’ve kissed him right then and there simply for having a smile to hold back at all. “The first time I had it wasn’t by choice. Michel brought them out, I refused them, and he nearly shoved one down my throat while yelling that I hadn’t tasted until I’d tried his escargot.”

  “Aggressive.”

  “French.” He dipped the tines of his fork into one of the valleys and withdrew a lone snail. Lifting it as if toasting me, he popped it into his mouth.

  I tightened my lips and decided it was now or never. Scooping as he’d done rather than stabbing like I was inclined, I retrieved a snail of my own. “If it moves, I’m out of here.”

  “If it moves, I’ll be right behind you.”

  The scent wafting to my nose was admittedly heavenly, and I closed my eyes as I brought the dreaded thing to my mouth. Tentatively, I poked the tip of my tongue out. I heard a snort and opened my eyes just enough to peer through a slit of lashes and see Tate chuckling.

  “You’re more of a delicate little flower than I thought, Juliet.” He crossed his forearms on the tabletop, closing the space between us by a few inches. “Go on. If you hate it, I’ll finish the rest and tell Michel you helped.”

  In one swift movement, I shoved the fork into my mouth and chewed ferociously. Hot butter and savory garlic and snappish herbs exploded over my tongue, and had I been chewing on anything else or maybe even been ignorant to what I was eating, I would’ve said it was the most divine thing I’d ever had.

  With my current knowledge, however, I scrunched up my nose and tucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth to avoid as much contact with the snail as possible. Tate’s chuckling ceased to make way for a bark of loud, intrusive laughter, but I pretended I didn’t hear him and gnawed until I had no choice but to swallow.

  “There.” I sounded like I’d just been punched in the stomach.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be on Broadway.” He was holding his side like he’d gotten a cramp from laughing so hard at me. “That was quite the performance.”

  “That wasn’t a performance. I don’t even know how to process what I just went through.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Drama, drama. All right, I’ll eat the rest since you’re not into it.”

  I studied him, the smug flashing in his eyes and the taunting upturn of his lips. Snatching my fork from my plate where I’d dropped it while I’d chewed, I pointed the tines at him.

  “You know what? I’ll eat my half. Just to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”

  He let out a whistle and pushed the escargot platter toward me. “Have at it, then, firecracker.”

  I skewered one and shoved it between my teeth stubbornly before I could change my mind. Tate watched, laughter threatening to burst out again, before he shook his head and joined me. Whatever dark cloud had floated over our date unexpectedly seemed to have passed, and I was just as comfortable as I’d been before with him.

  “Hey.” I covered my mouth as I spoke while I was still chewing, but I swallowed before I continued. “I wanted to say thank you for the interview.”

  His gaze sharpened, and his knee bumped mine beneath the table as he straightened slightly. “Oh, yeah? Which part, the talking or the orgasm?”

  My god, he was cocky. I liked that about him way more than I should have.

  “The talking.” I flicked a bit of garlic butter in his direction as punishment for his ego, which he combatted with a grin and a hand. “I know I thanked you at the start when we first met, but I wanted to thank you again. I know you’re not fond of interviews, and you’d mentioned mine being the last you’d do for the time being, so I really appreciate that.”

  “Sure.” He took a drink of his wine. “I don’t mind doing interviews about theater as much as I did for film, for the record. I’d just like to take a break from the media now.”

  “Well, yeah. In the last year alone, you’ve been in, what, forty-two publications? And you had Cosmo, People, and US Weekly all in the same month you did Ellen, The Late Show, SNL, and Wake Up America. That’s a lot of exposure at once in a short period of time.”

  He was staring at me, and I suddenly felt self-conscious. If one of those herbs in the escargot sauce had gotten stuck between my teeth, I was going to hunt Michel down and bury him in snails. It was bad enough he’d served us garlic. Thank the stars I’d had the foresight to stuff a pack of spearmint gum into my purse.

  “What?”

  He shook his head, grinning slightly. “Do you also have my social security number memorized?”

  I was lost. “What?” I repeated.

  “Nothing. You just know a lot about me, that’s all.” He ate the last of the escargot an
d pushed the dish to the end of the table where Celeste could sweep it away without being forced to interact with us.

  A new reason for his strange demeanor dawned on me then. Maybe it had nothing to do with the topic of family. Maybe he’d gotten the impression I was an obsessive fan like those girls who chased him on the street. After all, I’d known about his family, and after the recitation of his most recent interviews, he was sure to think I’d erected a shrine to him somewhere in my apartment.

  That was it. You are such an idiot, Sadie.

  I didn’t say the words aloud, but I thought them so vehemently I could actually hear them spoken in my voice. There I was, telling him all about himself, which was stupid in and of itself, and he probably thought the only reason I was there with him at all was because I was his fan. That I wasn’t actually interested in him, I was only interested in Tate McGrath, movie star and Broadway sensation.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Sorry.” I’d never meant anything more in my life. “I only meant I don’t blame you for taking time off from doing interviews and articles and whatnot, that’s all.” It felt safer to say less rather than blathering on about how much I truly liked him for him and how not obsessed I was.

  It was strange. Our first date, if it could’ve been called that, had been so effortless and enjoyable that I’d been confident and natural… for the most part. Now, after we’d already spent some time together, gotten to know one another a little bit, and had sex, I was a nerve-wracked mess with the same social skills as a pubescent promgoer in front of her crush. If Tate and I ended up making it as a couple, I’d laugh at my silliness twenty years down the line. Right now, in this moment, I had more than a mild desire to excuse myself to the ladies’ room and slap the hell out of myself until my senses returned.

  “You know…” Tate held his glass of wine by the stem and tilted it slightly from one side to the other, admiring the movement of the liquid as he did. “…the way this wine tastes reminds me of your lips.”

  And, just like that, the pubescent promgoer disappeared into the shadows, and the woman inside me purred.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tate

  I’d never tried so hard to control my eyes in my life. Every time I forgot to keep on task, they wandered idly to the graceful curve of Sadie’s chest as she breathed or the graceful arc of her wrist as she ate or the elegant rise and fall of her brows as she spoke. To have her sitting across from me was almost surreal, like I was looking at a live painting of exquisite beauty from the most refined Italian artists.

  When those orbs met mine, I was enveloped in chills I’d only experienced in my earliest years of the theater. And I was comfortable with her, more comfortable than I wanted to be. I could have listened to her talk, taken her back to my place and had my way with her, then spent the rest of the dark hours with her curled in my arms and never experienced an ounce of displeasure. It was a rare woman who could make me feel like that. With the exception of the discussion about family, our meal together was as fluid and fitting as the first one we’d shared.

  “Bonjour, my treasured guests.” It was the end of our dining experience, and Michel had returned to our table with new stains on his coat and a rosier glow in his pudgy face. “Everything was to your liking, oui?”

  “It was wonderful, Michel.” The chef beamed down at me upon hearing my praise.

  “Yes, it was.” Sadie no longer seemed alarmed by his boisterous demeanor as she smiled genuinely at him. “I don’t think I’ve had a better meal.”

  Michel threw his hands up and kissed Sadie on both cheeks with the energy of a hyper chihuahua. “Ah, chérie, you darling girl.” He clapped, swooped down on her again, then turned to me. “Now, you wish to finish off the evening with a bit of rooftop romance, non?”

  “Rooftop romance?” Sadie quirked a brow in my direction, a curious smile on her perfect lips.

  I nodded. “If it’s no trouble.”

  “Trouble, ha!” The laugh was a single, sharp boom of enthusiasm that sent Michel’s belly bouncing where it hung over the tiny apron tied around his midsection. “As if romance was ever such a thing. Although, I once had a lover… well, a story for another time.” He guffawed and held out a chubby hand to Sadie. “Allow me to help the mademoiselle up.”

  She took it, and I stood while Michel guided Sadie to her feet and gushed about her dress. Without releasing her hand, he took one of mine as well and joined the two together.

  “Now, go. Amor waits for no one.” He waved his fingers at us in cheerful dismissal.

  “What is this rooftop romance you have planned?” Sadie asked as I steered her toward the crimson curtain at the rear of the restaurant.

  I grinned and winked. “Patience, nosy one.”

  Pushing the curtain aside, we found ourselves in a dark, narrow corridor. After the vibrant color and busy décor of the dining room, it was almost suffocating, but I’d been there before and continued forward to the industrial metal door at the end of the hall. It protested with a cracking noise as I pushed the release bar and opened into an equally dark and dank stairwell.

  “Okay, if you’re planning to kill me, this would be the perfect setting.” Sadie chuckled, but I heard tight nerves behind the joke.

  I removed my hand from hers and instead placed it on her lower back. “My intentions aren’t that gruesome. After you.”

  She cast me an uncertain look over her shoulder, then proceeded up the first flight of stairs. They were metal mesh, and I noticed her wobbling slightly as the tips of her heels caught between the webbing. I reached up to cup her hip with my other hand and provide her a little more stability as we began to ascend what I knew to be a breath-stealing number of flights. Unfortunately, the old building wasn’t equipped with an elevator and this was our only option if we were to take part in the second half of the evening I’d planned.

  By the fourth flight, I heard Sadie’s light wheezing, and I felt a little bad. “Sorry, I know there’s a lot. If it helps, I think you’re going to like what’s at the top.”

  “Is it a spa?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fully equipped with masseuses and aestheticians just waiting to pamper the clients brave enough to traverse the Everest of creepy staircases.”

  She made a noise of mild amusement in her throat. “You joke, but I don’t think you realize how difficult it is to hike up an entire building in shoes best suited to sitting.”

  “You underestimate me. I purposely wore these loafers because they pinch my toes. That way, I could relate to your plight.”

  Before she could respond, I circled an arm around her waist and scooped the other beneath her knee, sweeping her up into my arms. She yelped in surprise and clawed at my shoulders with startled alarm. I resumed climbing as if nothing had changed.

  “Put me down.” She gently slapped my chest.

  “Nope. This is a date, and a woman is supposed to be treated like a princess on a date.” I breathed in the scent of her shampoo as each step send little whiffs of it toward me.

  She made the amused sound again. “What about the rest of the time?”

  “The rest of the time, she should be treated like a queen.”

  I made out her snarky grin through the darkness. “So, a date is actually a step down in treatment.”

  “Either way, it’s my job to make sure you’re entertained, satisfied, and comfortable. Forcing you to develop blisters isn’t on the list.”

  She hummed a wordless response and conceded defeat to my whims. Even if she’d ordered me to put her down again, I wouldn’t have. There was something thrilling about having her in my possession like that, her body dependent on my strength, her mouth so close to mine while I was too focused on keeping us upright to indulge myself. It was a superficial situation, a woman in heels traversing a doozy of a stairwell, but I was the white knight, and she fit perfectly in my arms.

  When we finally reached the top and came face-to-face with a door identical to that at the bottom, I carefull
y placed her back onto her feet, holding on to her a little longer than necessary under the guise of ensuring her steadiness. “Ready?”

  Sadie raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  Without answering, I pushed the door open. There before us, spread in every direction like an enormous blanket, was New York City.

  I heard her gasp before we even stepped onto the roof. “Oh my god.”

  Taking her hand in mine, I led her out into the open. The only thing above us was the velvety night sky, and the only thing around us was a stunning vision of the place we both called home. “What do you think?”

  “I think… wow.” She shook her head. “Just… wow.”

  “Come on.” I pulled her along behind me and strode toward the part of the roof overlooking the entrance to Coin. The closer we drew to the edge, the more I felt her hand stiffen in mine. I looked back at her. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not in the sense that most people are when they say they’re afraid of heights, I guess. I mean, I was able to go to the top of the Empire State Building without having a panic attack or anything.” She tentatively took a tiny step forward, peering as best as she could at the distance down to the street. “But am I thrilled about the idea of potentially falling umpteen stories to my death? Not so much.”

  “How strange. Most people I know can’t think of a more fun activity.” Sadie rolled her eyes at me, and I motioned to the edge. “Care to sit?”

  For a second, I was sure she was going to tell me to go to hell or ask if I’d completely lost my marbles on the climb up, but then the same look of determination she’d adopted after her first taste of escargot took over her expression. Her fingers clamped down tighter around mine, but she pulled her shoulders back and stalked purposefully toward the thick lip bordering the roof. I held securely on to her as she lowered herself onto the concrete and kicked her legs over the side until her heels could click against the old brick face. I had to admit, I was impressed.

  She curved her chin up toward me. “Well? Too scared to join me?”