by Dana Pratola
“You better be on time tomorrow,” he said finally, and hung up.
She replaced the receiver as her best friend, Rae, came through the door without knocking.
“How did you know I was home?” Haven asked.
“I didn’t, just took a shot.” Rae jumped onto the nearest chair and curled her feet under her. “So…?”
“So…what?” Haven asked, walking past her and up the stairs to her bedroom. She was desperate for a shower.
Rae bounced after her like a puppy and flopped onto Haven’s bed stomach first. “So, what’s he like?” She reached over and plucked a red bead necklace from the bedside table.
“Who?”
“The guy. Your mystery man. Is he gorgeous? And why do I have to hear things through your father?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Haven answered, annoyed. If there was one thing Rachel Stern was good at, it was ferreting information from people who didn’t want to give it. She was in no mood.
Rae rolled her eyes. “Right.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Whatever. Your father had me worried. He said you ran off to some weirdo’s house. Fill me in.”
Haven snatched the necklace back before Rae borrowed it indefinitely, and put it back on the nightstand. “There’s nothing much to tell. I have to take a shower,” she said, escaping to the bathroom.
“What do you mean nothing to tell?” Rae called through the door. “Who is this guy? What did you do?”
Haven leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. She would tell Rachel what she’d told her father and brother. “A guy called about my paintings.”
“Really?” Rae asked, thrilled. “Great! What did he say?”
“His grandmother bought the one I had at my aunt’s shop. Now he wants me to do something special for her birthday.” She undressed and stepped into the shower.
“And?”
Haven sighed. “Let me shower and change.” And come up with some answers for the inevitable questions. “There are Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge.”
Rae was easily distracted by food. At five foot and one hundred pounds, she seemed to need food almost continually to fuel her boundless energy.
Rather than thinking up answers, Haven stood under the hot spray, letting the water work on her muscles. Only when they began to loosen did she realize just how tight they had been. Understandable. In fact, if she thought of today’s events, she could feel them tensing once more, so she hummed the theme from Star Wars until her fingers were pruny and the bathroom looked like a scene from The Fog.
Changed and refreshed, she found Rae in the kitchen drying dishes, the smells of stuffing and brewing coffee hanging in the air.
“I was beginning to think you rinsed yourself down the drain,” Rae told her.
Haven poured coffee and doctored it with the milk and sugar Rae set out. “Feels like the temperature dropped ten degrees.” She went into the narrow hall to turn up the thermostat.
“What’s up?” Rae asked when Haven returned to the table. “You always want to talk about your art and today you’re silent as a tomb. What gives?”
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself, that’s all. There isn’t much to say at this point.”
She felt the weight of Rae’s suspicious stare. How could Haven expect her to believe such a lame answer? Nothing opened the floodgates of speech quicker than the subject of her life’s passion and Rae knew it.
“You’re seriously not going to tell me?” Rae asked.
Haven put her cup on the table. Rae could be trusted with a secret. So could she. “I’m sorry.”
Disappointed, Rae pouted. “A hint?” Haven shook her head. “Okay, tell me this. Would you tell me if you could?”
“Yes,” Haven answered without hesitation.
Thoughtful, Rae sipped her coffee. “So it’s a secret then, not just something you don’t want to share.”
“Rae, stop it.” Haven laughed.
“Stop what?”
“You’re prying.”
Rae threw one arm over the back of the chair. “I’m just glad you aren’t willingly withholding information.”
Haven smiled back, awkwardly. Friends since the fifth grade, she and Rae told each other everything, no matter how shallow or deep, and shared everything from cars to shoes. No one could be more fiercely loyal than Rae, or more trustworthy. Yet to be honest, there was a part of Haven that wanted to keep this secret to herself as long as possible. She couldn’t explain why. Maybe because the short time at Jett Cestone’s had been strange and disturbing, and the most excitement she’d had in a long time. Also, while so many thoughts and questions tumbled around in her mind, she didn’t want anyone else’s input to confuse them further.
When Rae left an hour later, red bead necklace in hand, Haven hurried to the answering machine to replay Jett’s message. She wished she knew what to make of it. The more she heard it, the more it sounded like a summons than an invitation, and she didn’t like that he’d left her no contact number, obviously taking for granted she would accept and be ready promptly at…. When? He hadn’t given her a time. Was he sending a car?
Her head began whirling with questions, thoughts, concerns. If she didn’t stop, she’d soon think herself into a panic. Frustrated, she went upstairs and donned a smock. Splashing some paint across a canvas would relieve this emotional overflow.
~ ~ ~ ~
At work the next day, both her father and Marcus were strangely quiet. Aside from a “How’d it go?” from Marcus, and a grumbled “Men can’t be trusted,” from her father, it seemed they had agreed to let the previous days argument slide under the rug. She wasn’t buying it.
They were clearly trying psychology on her, believing if they didn’t make an issue of it, she wouldn’t feel she had to hide anything and would spill all the details. It was exactly the kind of thing Marcus would dream up. She was closer to him than to any other human being. Did he really believe she couldn’t see through him?
And her father…. Though he refrained from grilling her, his lips moved silently throughout the day, talking to himself, as he habitually did when troubled or annoyed. What Haven couldn’t figure out was how Marcus had gotten their father to agree to the charade. Confrontation and demands were his style, not games.
She was dwelling on this very question when she arrived home to be greeted by the red light on her machine. Blink, blink, pause. Blink, blink, pause. Two messages. Haven pushed the button and Jett Cestone’s voice filled the room.
“Haven, Jett Cestone. I’m assuming you received my message concerning dinner this evening. I’ll have my car there at seven. If for any reason you didn’t receive the message or you’ve decided not to come, my driver is instructed to wait for notice from you, or until eight-thirty. Take this number in case you need to reach me.” As she jotted the number, another message played. Rae, asking if she wanted to watch a movie and gorge on ice cream and popcorn. Haven called her back, thankfully got the machine, and left a message saying that tomorrow night would be better. Then she dialed the number Jett left.
“Hello.”
“It’s you.” She was surprised, to say the least.
“You expected someone else?”
“A secretary I suppose.”
“This is my private number.”
His private number? “Oh. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No.”
She felt foolish. “Well, good. Okay then. Goodbye.”
“Haven.”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t told me why you’re calling.”
Now she felt stupid. “Uh, right.” Why was she calling? “Um….”
“You’re coming to dinner?” he prompted.
“Yes.” Relieved, she smiled. “Are you?”
When he paused she knew they must be thinking the same thing. More or less.
Disappointed, she flopped into a chair. It was old and raggedy, but so comfortable she could be happy in it for the
rest of the night. “You won’t be there in person. Should have known.”
“Really.”
He didn’t sound angry by her supposition, more curious. She smiled. “You said we’ll have dinner. That doesn’t necessarily mean together. I’m learning you use words very precisely.”
“Are you?”
Well, okay, now he sounded a little miffed, and for some reason she found it appealing. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the way you speak. It’s unusual.”
“How so?”
Yes, definitely miffed. “I thought at first you had an accent of some kind, but you don’t really. It’s the way you speak, not in everyday English. Sometimes it seems out of form for today.”
He paused. “It’s common for me.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Never mind. I wanted to ask you…do you want me to send your paintings back with Esposito or would you prefer to leave them here while we negotiate terms of sale?”
“Terms of sale?”
“Of course. I’d like to buy the work you left.”
What did she say to that? She hadn’t considered selling the pieces. Yet that was why she painted right?
“We can discuss it this evening,” Jett said.
“Um—”
“Was there something else?”
“No.” Was there? “Yes.” Impatient with herself, she shook her head and remembered what she wanted to ask him. “What should I wear?”
“That’s up to you, Haven. I don’t have a dress code.”
“I feel silly.”
“Don’t.”
The one simple word made her relax. “So you don’t care if I come in paint clothes?” she teased.
“Not if you don’t. But you do, or you wouldn’t have looked so out of place yesterday.”
“That obvious?”
“A beautiful woman doesn’t look lost unless she has no confidence. Seeing your work, it can’t be lack of confidence in your ability.”
Beautiful? Her mind went blank as a new canvass. She should respond….
Jett filled in the blank for her. “I look forward to seeing you. However you present yourself.”
~ ~ ~ ~
From the look of her room one might think a small bomb had detonated. Bras, panties and camisoles hung from dresser drawers. Skirts, shoes, blouses and belts were jettisoned across the bed and floor as Haven tore through the closet looking for…well, she would know when she saw it.
She didn’t know why she was going through all this trouble to choose an outfit when she wasn’t even going to see her host. Though he would be seeing her. And that was okay. This time she was going with a new attitude. It wasn’t personal, it was a job and she would tackle it as such. She didn’t have to see the man’s face to enjoy a good meal and talk business. She had eaten many a meal curled up on her couch alone except for the images flickering on the TV, images no more tangible than Jett Cestone.
At seven on the dot, Haven climbed into the back of the limo satisfied she looked better than the last time she’d been to the Cestone residence. She smoothed the front of the cream silk blouse and picked at the crease of black wool slacks. She’d left her hair loose, lightly curled at the ends, thinking it made her appear confident and sophisticated, even if her stomach was aflutter over meeting with Jett again.
She looked up when Esposito got behind the wheel. He didn’t bother to return her smile when their eyes met in the rearview mirror and she wished she had the nerve to press the button and raise the partition between them. It would be a small, spiteful satisfaction, for which she would immediately feel guilty. He saved her the discomfort by doing it himself.
After several minutes of watching lights from passing traffic, she nestled back into the butter soft leather and closed her eyes. This trip seemed to be shorter than yesterday’s and Haven mentioned this to Esposito when he opened the door at their destination.
“Si, signorina,” he agreed, his face as inexpressive as his tone.
Once inside the house, Esposito led her to the dining room. Like the library, the room was embellished with mahogany wainscoting, accent moldings and intricately carved woodwork. From an ornate cornice in the middle of the ceiling, hung a chandelier that virtually dripped crystal tears. It would surely destroy the lustrous Spanish dining table should it ever fall. She’d hate to be sitting here at the time.
Esposito gestured to the end of the table, waited until she sat, then left. Crystal, porcelain and silver sparkled in front of her. A setting for one. Before she had time to feel completely alone, two girls dressed in dove gray and white uniforms came out of an adjoining room bearing covered silver trays. The kitchen, Haven knew, recalling the layout of the house. Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen any servants yesterday, save Hannah and Esposito. A place this size must require a large staff to keep it going.
The girls, clearly sisters, possibly twins, were in their late teens and very pretty with pink bow shaped mouths, blue eyes and long, auburn hair clipped back on either side of their faces. They set the trays on the table in front of Haven and removed the covers. She hadn’t expected such formality and it made her a little edgy.
“Good evening, Miss,” one girl said. “I’m Paris.”
“Hi, I’m Haven.” She held her hand out but the girl backed away, looking at the other girl who frankly gaped at the breach in protocol. Haven lowered her hand to her lap. Regaining some nerve, the second girl moved nearer, reminding Haven of a mouse approaching a mousetrap.
“Good evening, Miss. I’m Penny.” The girl set down a bottle of wine.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Haven said.
Penny risked eye contact only once more as she opened and poured the wine, then disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Paris to pour the water and see that Haven had all she needed. She took her leave with an abbreviated curtsy.
The food smelled incredible. Stuffed shrimp, creamed asparagus, and wild rice were arranged so artistically, she would almost regret sticking a fork in it. Though her mouth watered, she continued to sit with her hands folded in her lap.
Would it be possible to chat over dinner as though she and Jett Cestone were two normal people, the fact that she couldn’t see him unimportant? Time to end the suspense.
“It’s rude not to wait for the host,” she said into the empty room.
“And I’m being a rude host.”
A chill shot up her back. She hadn’t known for certain he was here. “How long have you been there?”
“I just arrived.”
“Hmm,” she replied with a casual shrug. She told herself she was ready for this and she was. She wouldn’t freak like she had yesterday. “Can you see me?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” she mumbled.
“Please, eat.”
Putting all trepidation on hold, she teased a portion of stuffing onto her fork and slid it between her teeth. The first bite simply could not be eaten without an appreciative moan and closed eyes. Her pallet exulted. She swallowed. “Amazing.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Haven sampled the wine. She didn’t usually drink, but her mind was already so staggered, what could a sip hurt at this point? “Are you eating where you are?” she asked.
“No.”
“So, you’re just going to sit there or whatever until I finish?” She would have been more comfortable knowing they shared a meal, however unconventional the means.
“Actually, I’m working. Don’t feel you have to hurry, I have all night.”
Listening closely, she could hear keyboard keys clacking and what sounded like water trickling. “Are you near a fountain?” she asked, spearing a piece of shrimp.
“You have a good ear.”
“It was a guess. I thought it might be a fish tank. I ruled out leaky plumbing.” When he didn’t answer she ate another shrimp, then sat back. “Do you always work when you have company?”
“Not if I
’m present. I’m currently in Madrid.”
Wow, he wasn’t even on the same continent. It was somehow less insulting than thinking he was in the house and refused to meet with her, as he may have been on her first visit.
“I’m being rude,” he said by way of apology. “All right.”
“All right, what?”
“You have my undivided attention.”
That lengthy silence returned and Haven fidgeted in her chair. “Now what?”
“You tell me,” he answered. “You’ve made it clear it’s impolite to mix business with pleasure, so we’ll hold off on that.”
“That isn’t exactly what I said.”
“Oh?”
“It’s okay to handle business if it’s with the person you’re dining with.” She ran her napkin through her fingers. “Or we could go with small talk.”
“Small talk.” He said the words slowly, trying them out.
“You know, I begin by asking something I’m not really interested in, and you give me a generic answer, then you start. Or I comment on the weather or—”
“How was the ride here?”
“Very nice, thank you. Now my turn. You have a lovely home.”
“You shouldn’t let Esposito intimidate you.”
Haven poked around her plate. She didn’t like that he knew that. “That was random.”
“I don’t like small talk. I prefer discussing matters of importance,” he said.
“And whether your driver intimidates me is important?”
“It disturbs you, so yes, it’s important.”
She blinked, surprised that a man in his position would say such a thing to her. “I don’t think he likes me for some reason, but it’s fine. He doesn’t have to.”
“I’ll tell him to be more sociable.”
“You can’t make people be nice.”
“Yes, I can.”
She thought there should be amusement in his tone. There wasn’t. “It isn’t real if you force someone. There’s no point to anything if it isn’t real.”
“Like your art.”
It was an observation she hadn’t expected. “Yes.” She looked at her plate, this time trying the creamed asparagus.
“How long have you been an artist?” Jett asked.