by Beth Martin
The hostess waved an arm toward the plush booth and handed the menu to Peter once he sat down. “Mr. Hudson has been delayed, but should arrive only ten to fifteen minutes late.”
Peter tapped his fingers on the table nervously. He had already decided he wouldn’t have any alcohol for the evening, but when the waiter came by to get his drink order, he changed his mind and asked for a whiskey in hopes of calming his nerves. He hadn’t been worried about meeting the man in charge of SPS until he had arrived at the restaurant. He tried to push out of his mind the fact that this man was also Grace’s father, but was reminded of that truth when he saw her approaching in a tight-fitting deep blue dress with an older man escorting her.
He quickly took in Grace. She looked stunning with her hair swept back off her face and dark liner emphasizing her eyes. Her hand was on her father’s arm, a man whose confidence seemed to fill the room.
“What a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, extending a hand for a firm handshake. His conservative suit was much quieter than his commanding voice. “I’m Michael Hudson, Grace’s father. She has told me all about you.”
Peter glanced quickly at Grace again as she slid into the C-shaped booth. “Hopefully she has mentioned my work,” Peter commented as Michael took a seat next. Peter hadn’t noticed the second young woman who came with the pair.
“This is my friend Sandra,” Grace said, indicating the beautiful brunette who took a seat next to her.
“Pleasure,” Peter said before sitting back down. He noticed Michael had situated himself as a physical barrier between Peter and his daughter by sitting between the two.
Peter couldn’t think of anything to say, and studied his menu silently. There wasn’t a single item on it that looked appetizing.
“You can’t go wrong here—every dish is amazing. I’d recommend the red fish,” Michael said. “Order whatever you want, my treat.”
“Dr. Cork doesn’t eat meat products,” Grace said as she flipped through her own menu.
“I have reservations about certain practices at commercial farms,” he clarified, “so I abstain from eating farm-raised meat and dairy or eggs.”
“Huh,” Michael said. “To each their own, I guess.” The others all ordered steak, and after the waiter insisted that the seared ahi tuna with wasabi glaze was wild caught, Peter ordered that.
“Thank you so much for dinner,” he said.
“Oh, of course, Dr. Cork,” Michael said, smiling broadly, flashing his perfectly straight white teeth, which matched his daughter’s. “I pay for your lab and livelihood, what’s one dinner?”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Please, call me Peter. And, I was hoping for a chance to talk with you about my work.”
“Oh, I know all about your work,” Michael said before taking a long sip of his top-shelf scotch. “I’ve read over all your proposals. To be honest, if you’re too successful, I’ll be shooting myself in the foot. The real profit lies in fossil fuels. But my PR people insist that funding research on clean energy improves SPS’s image. Plus, it will take a couple decades before anything like geothermal habitation will be economical for consumer use, and hopefully by that point SPS will have some patents on this whole process and have found a way to monetize all this clean-energy hoopla.”
Peter sunk down in his seat. “Geothermal habitation has the potential to change how we live and work―”
“Oh, I know all that,” Michael cut in. “That’s not my concern.”
As if on cue, Grace said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” before she and Sandra slid out of the booth. Peter kept his attention on Michael as the two women sauntered out of sight.
“Now look here, Peter,” Michael said, glaring at the scientist. “Grace is my only daughter. She’s my little ray of sunshine, and admittedly I’ve spoiled her a bit. The only things she truly enjoys doing are partying with her friends and shopping. But since she’s started this internship, she’s been talking about geothermal energy non-stop, saying she’s going to change majors and get a career in research.”
“I’m glad I’ve been a positive influence for her,” Peter said.
“There lies the problem. She’s picked up odd interests to attract boys before. My question is: is she interested in your work, or is she interested in you?”
Peter ran a hand through his beard while thinking about what Michael said. Peter had never really dated, instead choosing to focus on his education and work. That, and a woman had never expressed her interest in him, not romantically.
“I would like to think she’s interested in my work,” he responded.
“I hope so, too,” Michael said, draining the rest of his scotch. “She could certainly do better. I fund your research; I know how little you academic folk make.”
Peter flushed with anger, but knew better than to say anything. Thankfully, Grace and Sandra returned and sat back down at the table. Soon after, the server brought their food, and Michael ordered another round of drinks for the table. Peter could feel his head get a little fuzzy with the second whiskey.
Throughout the meal, Michael made it clear their discussion of business was done. Peter didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, and passively listened as Michael asked his daughter and her friend about their lives.
Michael made an early exit when he received a phone call. “Business waits for no man,” he said, kissing his daughter on the forehead. He pulled out his wallet and handed a credit card to Grace. “Have a fun evening, sweetheart,” He turned to Peter. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Cork.”
“Likewise,” Peter said, standing to accept another firm handshake.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sandra said once Grace’s father was gone.
Grace nodded. “I’ll call the car.” She pulled her phone out of her tiny purse and typed a quick message before tucking it back in. “How does the Chandelier sound?”
“Excellent,” Sandra said with a smile before draining the rest of her glass of wine. With a small gesture, Grace summoned the waiter and handed him her father’s credit card.
“I could ask my driver to give you a ride,” Grace said.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Peter said. The three got up from the table as soon as the waiter returned, and Grace signed the check. When they stepped outside, a town car was already waiting for them at the front of the restaurant.
Peter sat in the front seat while the two women slid into the back.
“Logan, take us to the Chandelier,” Grace instructed.
“Of course, miss,” he said, glancing at her through the rear-view mirror.
“Could you please drop me off at my hotel?” Peter asked.
“Oh no,” Grace interjected, “This car is only going to the Chandelier. That means you have to come with us.”
“What’s the Chandelier?” Peter asked.
“You’ll like it,” Sandra assured him. “I’m going to text Blake and tell him to meet us there.” Sandra pulled out a phone from just under the neckline of her dress.
“It’s a club,” Logan said to answer Peter’s question.
“My flight is early tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “I need to head back to my hotel and get some sleep.”
“Sleep on the plane,” Sandra said as she furiously typed on her phone.
“Come on,” Grace pleaded. “You owe me after I convinced my father to pay for your flight and your hotel.”
It was already ten PM, which was eleven in Mountain time. He guessed he could stay up a little later. The only thing he needed to do tomorrow was travel back to his lab.
“All right, I can come along, but just for a little while.” The women squealed with glee from the backseat.
“Good choice, man,” Logan said. “The Chandelier is sick.”
Peter wasn’t convinced.
···
On Sandra’s instruction, Peter left his blazer in the car. Even though the sun had set, it was still hot outside. He envied the women�
��s ability to wear short dresses and still look elegant, whereas he had on long sleeves and pants.
Before they got to the door, Grace said, “Hold on,” and grabbed Peter’s tie. She loosened the knot and slid it off, tucking it in her purse, then unbuttoned the top couple buttons of his shirt. “That’s better,” she declared before leading them through the door and into the club.
At first, he had thought Chandelier was a misnomer, but then he saw it. In the middle of the vast room hung an enormous structure made from tubes of steel welded together. All of the flashing and colored lights which illuminated the dance floor were mounted on it. There was a small crowd of people already on the floor dancing to the pulsing music, but most of the patrons were crowded around the bar.
Sandra shouted to be heard over the music, “Blake is already here at the patio.” They made their way through the club, Grace reaching back and grabbing Peter’s hand to keep from losing him in the crowd. Once they were out the back door, the space opened up in front of them to a large patio where the music wasn’t as loud, and the outdoor bar wasn’t nearly as crowded.
A man sitting on one of the outdoor sofas saw the group and came over to them. He embraced Sandra from behind nuzzled his nose against her neck. “Hey,” she said before turning around and giving him a deep kiss. Once they were finished greeting each other, she turned back to Peter, saying, “This is my friend, Blake.” Blake wore an impeccably tailored shirt with machine-distressed jeans. His dark hair was carefully styled with not a single hair out of place. Even though he was a head shorter than Peter, his presence felt intimidating.
They shook hands quickly. “Why don’t I buy the first round?” Peter offered. The quicker he downed a drink with Grace and her friends, the quicker he could make his exit and go back to the hotel. Clubs were not really his scene.
The clothes he was wearing already made him feel uncomfortable, but the atmosphere of this place put him on edge. He didn’t understand the allure of dancing while grossly intoxicated. If he wanted to have a good time, he’d prefer a game of Pandemic with a few friends while listening to smooth jazz. Meanwhile, Grace was beaming, clearly enjoying the music.
“All right,” Blake said, nodding his head in approval. Peter ordered another whiskey for himself, along with three drinks with crazy names he had never heard before. What the heck was a ‘zombie’ or ‘snake bite’? He paid the tab, noting that the crazy drinks had similarly crazy prices.
“Cheers,” Grace said, holding up her ‘Bahama mama.’ The rest clinked their glasses against hers and took a drink. “I think Daddy really liked you,” she said to Peter, looking up at him through her lashes.
“I don’t know,” he said, reflecting on their conversation at dinner while Grace and Sandra had been in the restroom. “He said―”
Grace pressed a finger against his lips, preventing him from completing his sentence. “I don’t need to hear what he said,” she insisted. “My father likes scaring people, but he’s a big softy at heart.”
“Right,” Peter said, looking down at his drink. It was so hot out, the ice in his cup had already melted away. It wasn’t particularly good to begin with, but the added water ruined it. When the others weren’t looking, he dumped the contents of his glass onto a nearby plant.
“Let me get you another,” Grace offered, taking his glass when she noticed it was empty. “Whiskey, right?”
“Neat, please.” He watched as she walked back over to the bar, her blond hair flowing behind her.
Blake gave out a low whistle. His eyes were also following Grace’s back as she sauntered away. “Damn, that woman is hot,” he said. “How do you know each other?”
Peter briefly explained his research and that Grace was his current intern.
“Wow,” Blake exclaimed. “So you’re, like, her boss. Man, I would love the chance to order her around, if you know what I mean.” He gave Peter a firm slap on the back. “You pick all the hotties for your interns?”
“No, my colleague interviews and hires all the staff.”
Grace returned and gave Peter his drink. He nursed his glass as they all sat on a couple of the outdoor sofas chatting. The other three periodically went back to the bar for a few more rounds.
After they had been there for a sufficient amount of time, Peter stood up, saying, “Well, I’m going to head out.”
“No, stay,” Grace said, pulling at his hand to get him to sit back down.
“Why don’t we all go dance?” Sandra suggested.
“Yeah,” Grace pleaded, “come dance with us.” Before he could protest, the two women grabbed both his hands and dragged him back inside and over to the dance floor. They started swaying and moving with the music, and Peter tried to bob back and forth in an attempt to dance as well. A minute later, Blake caught up to them and handed him a fresh glass of whiskey.
Peter didn’t have the coordination to dance, drink, and avoid bumping into everyone on the crowded dance floor like Blake did. Before long, Blake and Sandra were rubbing up against each other, their dance looking more and more like clothed intercourse. Peter knocked back the rest of his drink, stowing the glass with other empties sitting on a nearby speaker. With one less thing to keep track of, he hoped he could now focus on not running into the people gyrating around him, knowing that his dancing was a pretty lost cause.
Grace closed up the space between them, placing her hands on his chest. Peter’s body tensed, and in taking a small step back he ran into another dancer. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Grace persisted, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her body into his.
With too much alcohol is his system, the loud music, lewd dancing, and now invasion of his personal space, his brain screamed for an escape. His chest tightened as he stood there rigidly, not dancing at all. He needed to leave the club, hail a taxi back to his hotel, and get some sleep.
“Let’s go sit down,” Grace said. She led him off the dance floor and up a winding staircase to the second floor. From the mezzanine was an amazing view of the central chandelier. It hung at the same level as the second floor, but the flashing lights all pointed down. Although the music was still loud up here, the atmosphere without all the dancing bodies and strobing lights was much more subdued. He decided he could tolerate the club for a little longer, but his muscles were tense, ready to make his body flee at any moment.
Peter sat down at one end of an empty sofa. Instead of sitting next to him, Grace sat down in his lap. Before he could protest, another person took the adjacent spot, leaving no other place for her to sit.
“I’m going to miss you this quarter,” she whispered in his ear. “What will you do without me?”
“There’s another intern starting this week,” Peter said loudly over the music. “A quarter isn’t that long. You’ll be back before you know it.”
“It feels like forever,” she purred. “You’ll miss me, right?”
“Grace,” he said, summoning the courage to tell her how inappropriate this all was. But he had no idea what to say. There had to be a way to get her to stop without making her overly upset. Before he could tell her off, she tucked her head next to his, resting her forehead on his shoulder. The gesture felt so innocent, he lost his nerve, and instead raised a hand to pat her head. He had expected her blond hair to be soft to the touch, but the hairspray holding her style together made it feel stiff.
“Daddy doesn’t want me to become a scientist,” she mused in a childlike voice. He could barely hear her over the music as she talked toward his chest.
“Why not?” The first time he met her, he had thought she was generally attractive. But now that she was curled up in his lap, making herself vulnerable, it was both beautiful and terrifying.
“He is pushing for me to get a degree in business management and start up my own Fortune 500 company. Either that or marry someone who has.”
“It’s not enough to study something you enjoy?”
“No,” she said, sitting up so she could look him in the eye. �
�I want to matter. I want to change the world―like you are.”
His aspirations weren’t that ambitious. He had only started studying geology because he found it interesting. Yes, he was passionate about clean energy and hoped his work would lead to less reliance on fossil fuels, but that’s not what motivated him. “I don’t know if I’m changing the world,” he admitted. She curled back up under his chin.
“You are,” she insisted. “I read the grant proposal you sent Daddy.”
He sighed. All grant proposals were written to make a project seem urgently important and revolutionary with an immense impact. If his proposed plan for geothermal habitation even worked, it would take a few decades before it would get implemented, and even longer before it would be affordable to the middle class. “Change takes time.”
“Let’s go,” Grace said. She got up and held out a hand to help him up from the deep sofa. Once they were outside, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Logan, asking him to pick them up. After they both got into the backseat of the town car and were driving away from the club, Grace asked, “Would you like to come over to my place?”
“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Peter answered.
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like we’ve been living together all summer.” After a few minutes of silence, the car slowed down to a stop in front of Peter’s hotel. “Or I could come up for a cup of coffee?”
“Grace,” he sighed, unsure he could get through to her in her stubborn and inebriated state. “As much as I would love to spend the rest of the night with you, I really do need to get some sleep before my flight tomorrow. Feel free to keep in touch, and you’ll see me again when you come back to Last Chance after the winter holidays.”
“Okay,” she said, looking down at her lap. “I’ll see you.”
He closed the car door behind him and went up to his room. He had completely forgotten about his blazer and tie. After undressing, he slipped into bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. Michael’s words circled through his head. Is she interested in your work, or is she interested in you?