by Adele Buck
“Unless you’ve suddenly got a thing for skinny blond dudes? Yeah. But hey. I don’t judge.” Russell winked and sipped his beer.
Colin set his pint down on the cardboard coaster in front of him. “I’m not interested in anything but work these days.”
“Just because Tressa did a number on you doesn’t mean you have to check out on the human race, my friend. Especially the female half. It’s been two months. Time to get back in the game.”
Colin huffed a laugh. “And Tressa called me today seeming to think that two months was the correct amount of time for me to forgive and forget what she had done.”
Russell grimaced at the mention of Colin’s ex. “Slim to no chance of that ever happening if I know you.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I’m not checking out. Just taking a break.”
“Right. Which is why you were checking out a random dude because you thought he might be a woman. Makes perfect sense.”
Colin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I met a woman last night at the Folger party. She was attractive. But she seemed like trouble. That’s it.”
“Right,” Russell drawled again, picking up his beer. “Trouble.”
Alicia propped her iPad on the wobbly little café table in the shady garden in front of her apartment. Reviewing Susan’s e-mail again, she chewed on one fingertip. Susan always had to have someone to confide in, and that role rotated, usually to the newest person who hadn’t figured out her games yet.
Alicia was the only one Susan ever returned to, when all other options were exhausted. Alicia supposed she should be insulted by this, but somehow, she never was. Susan’s bitchy competitiveness with its thin veneer of false friendliness amused Alicia.
Susan would hate that if she knew.
Not that Alicia would ever tell her. Alicia’s few friendships were loose, light things, reflecting the nomadic nature of her life. But keeping tabs on Susan was professionally smart. They were all too often up for the same roles.
She tapped “Reply” and thought for another minute before starting to type.
To: Susan Vernon
From: Alicia Johnson
Subject: Re: Ugh.
Oh, don’t worry about the silence. What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t let each other focus on ourselves from time to time? Sorry I couldn’t stay for much of the party. The reviews are FABULOUS, though. I hear there’s a possibility it will transfer to New York?
Alicia paused here, well aware that Susan’s tantrums had probably sunk her chances of staying with the show for an extended run, and thinking of New York, glanced down the quiet Capitol Hill street. Could she really stay here? For a while at least? She’d have to leave the cozy garden apartment in the old town house at the end of the summer when the professor who owned it returned from her summer abroad, but that didn’t bother Alicia, as much as she liked its charm. Moving on was nothing new to her. Alicia decided to table that thought and returned to her e-mail.
And Cath and Paul are getting married? Frankly, it’s about time those two crazy kids got serious.
Alicia liked the pair, what she knew of them. And Susan’s claims that Paul had always been into her had seemed all too…well, all too Susan to be true. A feral grin spread across Alicia’s face when she thought how much her bland acknowledgement of a thing that had been almost inevitable would tick Susan off.
We’re beyond previews, sweetie. A week into the run, if you can believe it. We had a big shindig for donors last night. You know the kind of thing: let people get a thrill from talking to actual actors. Balance a ball on your nose for some rich people. And I did meet a lobbyist! Tall, dark, handsome, and…kind of an asshole, to be honest. Oh, well. What can you expect from rich people anyway?
Realizing she was chewing on her nail again, Alicia whipped the finger out of her mouth and wiped it on her shorts. She wondered if she should keep that last piece. It was a bit more open than she usually was in her e-mails to Susan. Shrugging one shoulder, she let it stand.
Anyway, enjoying a day off. Hot and sunny here. How is it in your rural hideaway?
Xoxo-’Lis
Alicia tapped “Send” without reviewing the e-mail again. Either it would enrage Susan and Alicia wouldn’t hear from her again for a few weeks or months, or she would get a nice, gossipy message in a day or so. Either outcome was fine with her.
“So, this ‘trouble’ woman. Why so troubling?” Russell’s deep brown eyes filled with humor as he looked at Colin.
“I’m not sure. I thought we were having a nice conversation, if a bit confusing, and suddenly she just scarpered.”
“Scarpered.”
“Yes.”
“That British for ‘fucked off’?”
“Quite.”
“Can you think of anything you might have done to make her…er, scarper?”
Colin rubbed his chin. “I don’t think so. I mean, I got off on the wrong foot with her initially, but then I thought the conversation was going rather well.”
“Wait, wait, back up—what wrong foot?” Russell’s expression was amused. “And did you use that wrong foot to step on her toes?”
Colin grimaced. “Well, she is an actress in the production. And…I might have intimated that I thought actors were…not trustworthy.”
Russell blinked. “You called her a liar and were surprised that scarpering happened?”
“You’ve become all too fond of that word in a very short amount of time, my friend.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Russell said. “How the hell did you walk back from that? And don’t tell me it was British charm.”
“Oh, it wasn’t. It was an abject apology.”
“Abject?” Russell’s eyes crinkled. He was enjoying this too much, damn him.
Colin pinched his thumb and forefinger close together. “This close to a complete grovel.”
“Okay.” Russell took a long sip of beer. “And you managed to grovel, walk back from that, and still piss her off? How?”
Shrugging, Colin set his own glass down. “I have no idea. We were talking, I was a bit baffled. Every time I would think I had her figured out a little, she would surprise me. I was…off balance around her.”
“Hm. And she just walked off?”
“Well she said her castmate was calling her over.”
“You sound like you don’t believe her. Again.”
Colin shrugged.
“Let me get this straight,” Russell said, extending one finger. “You call the woman a liar having barely met her.” Another finger joined the first. “You managed to apologize well enough that she didn’t tell you to fuck off forever.” A third finger. “You still somehow don’t trust her when she says a colleague is calling her over and she has to leave.” Russell studied Colin’s face. “And if you looked anything like that,” he said, waving the three fingers at Colin’s expression, “she probably saw this distrust in your eyes. You should never play poker.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.” Russell picked up his pint again. “But I’ll tell you what as someone who’s been married, divorced, and live to tell the tale. This sounds like Tressa living rent-free in your head.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You meet someone new and the first thing you think of is what broke up your last relationship.”
“You’re saying I think she shagged the doorman of her condo like Tressa did?”
“Cute. No. I’m saying this woman…does she have a name, anyway?” Russell asked.
“Alicia.”
“You meet Alicia and the first thing you assume is that she’s lying to you. Like Tressa did. You’re looking for patterns.”
Colin shifted on the bar stool, turning this truth over in his mind.
Russell jabbed him in the ribs with an index finger. “Seems like Alicia got under your skin, dude. Any plans to see her again?”
“What would I do? Go to the play again? Wait at the stage door?”
“Yeah. No. That�
��s stalker territory.” Russell frowned, staring at nothing.
“But…” Almost against his will, Colin felt his lips curling up in a smile.
“Yes?”
“She told me she sings every Sunday night at Club Zanzibar.”
Russell’s face split in a wide grin. “Need a wingman?”
Chapter 3
Alicia bowed as applause rang out through the club. Standing and tossing her hair out of her eyes, she said, “Thank you. Pat and I really appreciate you being here on a school night.” She tilted her head as a low chuckle ran through the room and continued. “This is going to be our last song for this evening. We’re here every Sunday, though, so if you like what you hear, please come back and bring your friends.”
Looking at her tuxedoed accompanist, Alicia nodded. Pat’s fingers ran briskly over the keyboard with the first few chords of The Girl from Ipanema. It was a bit of a trick, using this as her closer. This song got people jazzed, making them want more. Well, she was ready for that too.
Alicia’s eyes scanned the crowd as she sang. The lights illuminating the tiny stage had finally dimmed a bit, so she could see past the first few tables into the club. A waitress stopping at one table caught her eye as Alicia deepened her breath, getting ready for the run at the end of the chorus.
Her voice almost broke on the next part about giving her heart gladly. That guy. The lobbyist from last weekend’s donor party. He was sitting at a table toward the back of the club, his large, dark eyes fixed on her, a handsome Black man next to him.
Fuck. She strove for the sorrow she usually invested in the next lyrics about looking straight ahead and walking to the sea, but they came out almost defiantly instead.
Alicia finished out the song with its repetitions of, “And she doesn’t see…” determinedly looking at anyone but That Guy. The applause that met the end of this song was the loudest of the night, and Alicia bowed deeply, standing with a flourish and throwing out her hand to include Pat in the accolades. The applause only intensified, whistles and some stomping punctuating the pounding of hands. Half the room was standing.
Bringing the microphone back to her mouth, Alicia waved a hand. “Okay. Just one more,” she said, as if making a concession. She glanced at Pat, who nodded at her and started playing, one corner of her mouth quirking up. Pat hadn’t been convinced that this was the right end to the set, unconvinced that it would trigger an encore, but she had lost the ten dollars she bet Alicia that it wouldn’t work.
Pat hit the opening chords to The Party’s Over. This song was perfectly suited to the comfortable part of Alicia’s dark, alto voice. She snuck another look at the table with That Guy.
“Okay.” Russell’s breath tickled Colin’s ear, and he reared his head away from his friend. “I thought you said this woman was ‘attractive.’”
“What, you don’t think so?” Colin said, surprised, his eyes darting back to the stage. Alicia’s clinging black top glittered in the stage lights and her face was alight as she sang. The sight made Colin’s breath snag in his throat.
“Col, she’s a fucking knockout. You have a talent for understatement.”
“It’s a British thing,” Colin said. “Perhaps I should have said that she’s rather beautiful.”
“Hush, let the rather beautiful lady sing.” Russell admonished him with a wink.
Colin let his eyes settle on Alicia’s slim form again. She had spent much of the set making eye contact with various members of the audience, mostly up front. He assumed that was as far as she could see with the stage lights in her eyes. When the lights had dimmed for the last number, he thought she might have seen him, but he couldn’t be sure. Her voice was surprisingly deep and smoky as it wended its way through the last of the melancholy lyrics, rising to an unexpected high note at the conclusion of the song.
A hushed pause hung in the air as the last notes from the piano faded away and Alicia stood with the microphone still poised at her lips, eyes fixed over the heads of the audience as if she could see something far in the distance. Then the room erupted and she bowed again, settling the microphone with finality into its stand with a wave and walking over to say something to the accompanist, silky black trousers swirling around her legs as she moved.
The crowd milled, some moving toward the exits, others settling back into their seats for one more drink. “So, you brave enough to try again with this woman?” Russell said, leaning back in his chair.
“What do you mean, ‘brave’?” Colin asked, annoyed.
Russell waved a hand at the stage where Alicia was laughing at something. Her accompanist was grinning wryly and gathering sheet music together. “She’s beautiful, she’s talented…”
“What’s your point?”
Russell continued as if he hadn’t heard Colin speak. “…She’s poised, she’s funny. I’m just saying she’s clearly out of your league. Maybe you should be my wingman.”
“Says the man who can only do eight reps at my top weight on the bench press.” Colin’s teeth gritted together as he glared at his friend.
“Bench press isn’t everything, my friend. There’s also charm. Real charm. Not just leaning on an accent. Something you could stand to learn a thing or two about.” Russell picked up his glass and swirled the remaining bourbon in it, ice clinking.
The sultry voice that had fixed his attention all evening was suddenly in his ear. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. ‘Are Actresses Ever Honest?’”
That Guy’s head whipped around, and his lips tightened in annoyance. “Usually I prefer ‘Colin,’ but I will defer to the lady’s choice.”
Alicia’s heart beat a rapid tattoo as she watched him rise from his seat. She affected a casual attitude, wondering why she had decided to confront him. Her usual style was to run, to disappear.
But something about this guy made her want to stand her ground.
Another voice cut in. “Sounds like you were a really smooth operator, Col. Good work.”
Alicia had noticed before That Guy…Colin, she reluctantly told herself, was sitting with someone, but she hadn’t focused on him. Now she turned with a wary smile to see the other man getting to his feet, and registered a broad grin creating a deep dimple in one cheek.
“Russell King,” the other man said, extending a hand.
Alicia shook it with a smile. “Alicia Johnson.”
“I know. That was a great performance. You have some pipes.”
“Thank you.” Alicia said. Normally the compliment, the handsome face, and the easy charm would have warmed her more, but she was cautious. This guy was with That Guy. Colin.
“Well, I’m going to get one more drink. Can I get anything for either of you?” Russell cocked a thumb over his shoulder at the bar.
“Whiskey.” Colin didn’t even look at his friend, and Alicia found herself giving an example of almost exaggerated politeness in contrast.
“Gin and tonic, thank you so much. Please let Leo know that it’s for me. He won’t charge you,” she said with a grateful smile.
Russell looked from Alicia’s smile to Colin, who now appeared annoyed. Good. She wanted him to be annoyed. “Right. I’ll just get those drinks, then…”
Alicia realized her mistake as Russell moved away. She was now not only committed to stay for the duration of a drink, but she was also alone with Colin. Again.
Time to brave it out.
“Well,” she said, affecting a brightness she didn’t feel. “What brings you all the way to this neck of the woods?”
“It’s Logan Circle, not Mars.” Yes, Colin was still peevish. Again, good. For some reason, she liked getting a rise out of him. Maybe it was because he had antagonized her from the start. Or maybe it was because he seemed like the kind of guy who was always in control. The stereotype of a British stiff, in dire need of shaking up.
Alicia lifted an eyebrow. “Well. I may be new in town, but you are a lobbyist and I did meet you on Capitol Hill. I just thought you might have a natural habitat you didn�
��t stray out of.”
The muscles at Colin’s temples bulged as he gritted his teeth, and Alicia repressed a gleeful smile. This guy was too easy to needle. Appearing to rein in his temper, he flashed a tight imitation of a polite smile. “You did mention you sang here on Sundays, so I thought I would drop by. See the talents you boasted of that were not on display the other night.”
Shit. She had mentioned that, hadn’t she? Well, he didn’t have to be snotty about it. She hadn’t boasted.
“It’s so nice of you to remember,” she said.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond to the bait this time. “Not at all,” he said. “I do love music.”
“Really?” She looked him up and down. Instead of a suit, he was wearing a crisp white cotton button-down shirt, his cuffs rolled back to expose defined, muscular forearms. His shoulders were broad and solid too, she realized with chagrin. Suit jackets like the one he’d worn a week ago could give any man a nice set of shoulders, but his were the real deal.
That wouldn’t do at all.
“I guess I had you pegged as a symphony-only kind of guy,” she said.
What exactly is this woman’s problem? Colin thought with exasperation. She spoke as if he was some sort of poncy twit. He wasn’t like those stuffy, boring guys from upper-crust families he had gone to Oxford with.
Was he?
Russell returned at that moment, carefully carrying three drinks, the third glass wedged between the other two. Carefully setting the assemblage on the table, he handed Alicia hers with a smile and a wink.
“Ladies first.”
Annoyance rose up in Colin again. Was Russell really trying to edge him out? Glancing at his friend, he realized Russ was messing with him. A self-satisfied smile had spread across the other man’s face. Gotcha, it seemed to say.
Settling his tense shoulders, Colin received his whiskey from Russell with a half-bow. “Thank you,” he said. “Very kind of you.”
Russell rolled his eyes and turned back to Alicia. “So, where did you learn to sing like that? You from a musical family?”