by Robin Stone
“Yeah, my girlfriend is getting ready.”
Girlfriend. I was surprised at how easily the word rolled off my tongue.
“Well, she wants to look good.”
“She’d look good in a potato sack,” I said. “I just saw her in jeans for the first time recently. She looked so different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
“Very good. She mostly wears skirts and suits to work.”
Brooke even wore expensive-looking silky pajamas to bed, and I was very happy to peel them off her. Sometimes, she just climbed into bed naked to save me the trouble.
I liked those nights a lot.
We didn’t always have sex. Some nights, she was exhausted from work, so we sat up in bed, watching terrible reality TV shows.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she’d said. “I watch three different shows. I can just turn my brain off and watch them.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
And I didn’t. Because she’d snuggle against my side as I wrapped an arm around her and enjoyed the closeness. Sometimes, we ate ice cream or just talked. We had so much to talk about, and I loved learning more about her.
I found out she had taken ice skating lessons as a child. Her grandfather tapped trees for maple sap, then cooked it up into maple syrup for them to eat the rest of the year. She told me about her sister Megan.
My growing-up years weren’t quite as wholesome, but I told her stories about Matty in happier times. Like birthday parties, swimming at the lake, and playing in the yard—simple, but fun.
I finished my glass of soda, smiling at the memory of a toothless Matty with dirt on his cheeks from playing in the yard.
“Can I get you another one?” Amanda asked.
“Nah.” I took out my wallet and paid her. “Thanks.”
“Have a fun night,” she said. “And don’t forget to tell her she’s beautiful.”
“I won’t.”
I went to the bathroom in the lobby, then sat on one of the plush benches that had a view of the staircase and the elevators. Finally, the elevator doors opened, and Julia walked out.
My heartbeat kicked against my ribcage as I watched for Brooke. A woman stepped out of the elevator, wearing a dark purple, floor-length gown with her hair tied up. When she put her hand to her neck and patted her necklace, I recognized the movement.
Brooke. Of course it was Brooke. There wasn’t a dressy event at the hotel tonight.
She looked different again. Her dark hair was tied up in a way I hadn’t seen before, and dangly earrings decorated her ears—Brooke usually wore small studs or small pearl earrings. Silver shoes peeked out beneath her hem as she walked toward me. She held a tiny silver purse.
Julia came toward me, grinning.
“Close your mouth, Evan, and tell her she’s beautiful.”
I clamped my mouth shut as Brooke walked up to me.
“Evan, wow. You look so handsome.”
“Thanks. You look… you’re so… beautiful.”
“Thank you. Well, we should get going. Julia says the car is here.”
“Car?” I asked stupidly. “I thought we were taking your car.”
“No, Julia’s arranged a car with a driver.”
I looked over at Julia, who winked at me. I reached out and took Brooke’s hand. As we walked past the restaurant, I saw Amanda standing close to the glass window, giving me a thumbs-up. I grinned at her.
A black sedan was parked right outside the door. The driver opened the door to the back seat. I let Brooke get in first, then I climbed in. The back seat was so roomy and comfortable. We settled in for the ride as the driver closed the door. The car pulled into the street, and we headed to the museum where the fundraiser was being held.
I took a closer look at Brooke’s dress. It was sleeveless, and the front was decorated with little silver gemstones, and the fabric was soft and gathered at the waist.
Taking Brooke’s hand, I held it up, placing a kiss on her fingers.
She smiled. “What was that for?”
“Thanks for picking me to squire you around, even though you made me wear a tux.”
Brooke’s laughter filled the car.
Fifteen
When we got out of the car, we saw other people heading in wearing formal clothing. I tugged at my collar, thinking I tied my bow tie too tight.
“Do you know where to go?” I asked.
“Yes. I’ve been coming to this fundraiser for years.”
I wondered if she came to this thing with a boyfriend. We approached a table where people were checking in.
“Brooke Sinclair and Evan Handler,” Brooke said.
“Hello, Miss Sinclair! Welcome back. Here’s a program, and dinner will be held in the usual spot.”
“Thank you.”
Brooke led me through the tall, marble-floored lobby. She told me tonight was a fundraiser for the renovations for the hotel. There was a silent auction with donations from local businesses, plus the dinner. Tickets for the dinner were two hundred dollars each.
Several people milled around the tables, looking at the items up for auction.
“What kinds of things are up for auction?” I asked.
“Oh, the usual. A ski weekend in the mountains. A hotel for the weekend in Boston. Minimum bids start at three hundred dollars.”
Oof.
“Do you usually place some bids?” I asked.
“Yes, but I don’t usually win them. That’s okay, though.”
Waitresses circulated with trays of champagne. Brooke took one, but I passed. I wasn’t drinking that again.
“Oh, Diane will be here tonight,” she said. “And some of the other people we met at the dinner party, like Linda and Charles.”
She rolled her eyes. I got the feeling there was some tension between Brooke and Linda at the dinner party. I didn’t know them that well, but it was good to know I’d see at least a few familiar faces.
We walked around and looked at the items up for auction, and Brooke bid on a few things. She bid on the ski weekend and the weekend in Boston.
“Do you ski?” I asked.
“No, but I’ve always wanted to learn. What about you?”
“No, we didn’t have any money for that.”
“Have you ever been to this museum?” Brooke asked.
“A couple of times, on school field trips. I’m afraid I don’t know much about art.”
“We could come here sometime and have a look around.”
“I’d like that,” I said.
“Brooke, is that you?” a woman asked.
We turned and saw Linda and Charles approaching. Linda’s greying hair was tied up off her neck, and she was wearing a red gown.
“It is you! You look good in purple.”
Linda gave Brooke air kisses while Charles shook my hand.
“Nice to see you again, Eric,” he said.
“Evan,” I said.
“Brooke, did you bid on anything yet?” Linda asked.
“I bid on the ski weekend, and the weekend in Boston.”
“Oh, I think I’ll go outbid you on that ski weekend,” Charles said. “I like to win that one. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Brooke finished her champagne and handed the glass to a passing waitress. We walked into one of the museum rooms open for the event. The room held paintings from some of the European master painters.
Brooke had taken some art classes at college, so she told me what she knew about some of the paintings. I listened carefully, marveling at all the things she knew. She was so damn smart and accomplished, I still couldn’t figure out why she was with a guy like me, who knew so little about the finer things in life.
But I wanted to learn. I wanted to go to the museum with her and learn more about art. I wanted to learn how to ski with her.
And most of all, I wanted to come home to her every single night, watch bad TV shows, and cuddle in bed. I wanted to reach for her every night and kiss her neck. I
wanted to slip my hand into her pajama pants to get her wet for me.
“Brooke Sinclair!” a man said.
We turned and saw a man in a tuxedo. He had brown hair, chiseled cheekbones, and his tuxedo was fitted to perfection over his broad shoulders. He looked like a model.
“Stephen, hello!” Brooke said.
Stephen stepped forward and placed a kiss on Brooke’s cheek, and it wasn’t an air kiss. Heaviness lodged in my gut, especially with the way Stephen was undressing Brooke with his eyes.
“You look gorgeous in that color,” he said.
“Thank you. Stephen, this is Evan Handler. Evan, Stephen Cummings.”
I put out my hand, and Stephen grasped my fingers hard, making me wince.
“Good to meet you, Eric.”
“It’s Evan,” I said through gritted teeth. How freaking hard was it to get my name right?
I decided I didn’t like Stephen Cummings or his big, toothy smile. I didn’t like the way he was mentally undressing Brooke or standing so close to her. I put a possessive hand on Brooke’s hip.
“It’s too bad you’re here with someone,” Stephen said as if I wasn’t even standing next to him. “I thought we could sit together at dinner and maybe dance later.”
“You don’t have a date tonight?” Brooke asked.
“No, darling, you weren’t available,” he said, laughing.
Brooke opened her mouth, and I tried to shoot laser beams into her head with my thoughts. Don’t invite him to sit with us. Don’t invite him to sit with us.
“Come and find us at dinner,” Brooke told him. “Linda and I usually sit at the same table every year.”
“I know the one, darling,” he said. “I need to go shake some hands. Later?”
Brooke nodded. Stephen took Brooke’s hand and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss that lasted a few seconds too long.
The rat bastard.
“Who the hell was that?” I asked after he left.
“Stephen Cummings.”
“I know, but who is he? Do you work with him?”
“No, I know him from some fundraisers for the hotel. His donation helped to renovate the hotel lobby.”
“What is he, a model or something?”
“He used to model for a men’s magazine.”
I blinked at her. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Is he still a model?”
“No. He manages his family’s business and owns a jet charter company.”
“Sounds like a real slacker,” I joked.
Brooke smacked me on the chest with her purse. “Come on, let’s go sit at our table. The food they serve for this event is amazing.”
We sat at our table. Charles and Linda were there, and I ended up sitting between Brooke and Linda.
I surveyed the glass and silverware situation, going over each one in my head. A waiter came around and filled the water glasses. Stephen came over and sat next to Brooke. A few minutes later, Diane came over.
We all said hello. I waited for the others to take their napkins off their plates, then I did the same, making sure I didn’t flop the fabric around.
The waiters came around with the first course. It was three small pieces of crusty bread covered with a light brown—was that a paste of some sort? It didn’t look like the kinda thing you’d eat with a fork.
Linda picked up a piece of bread and took a bite, so I did the same.
“Oh, I just love chicken liver pâté!” Charles said.
As soon as he said that, I tasted the pâté and tried not to gag. It tasted very strange. I didn’t like the smell or the texture, and it had an odd aftertaste. I looked at Brooke, who was nibbling an edge of her bread not covered in pâté.
Soon the waiters were clearing those plates and coming around with another plate. This course had tiny pieces of what looked like meat, covered in a thick white sauce. I took a small bite, and it wasn’t bad, whatever it was.
Next came a tiny crock of soup that I couldn’t quite identify. I only ate a little, since I had no idea how many courses were coming.
Stephen was leaning over, telling Brooke some story that made her smile. And then he put his hand on her arm. Just like the earlier peck on the cheek, his hand stayed there a bit too long for my liking. I shot him a look, but he ignored me.
The plates were removed, and a salad was brought out. This one wasn’t wilted, though. It was ice cold, and so was the plate it was served on. The dressing was pretty good.
Next came what I guessed was the main course. It looked and smelled like salmon, but there was meat stuffed inside it.
I leaned toward Brooke, since Stephen was now talking to the man on his other side.
“What’s this? It looks like salmon.”
“Seafood-stuffed salmon fillets,” she said.
Great. Just stuff fish inside another fish. I looked at my utensils. Damn, had I already used the wrong fork? Did this course mean I had to use the fish fork? Why did rich people need so goddamn much silverware?
I looked around, but couldn’t tell who was using which fork, so I just picked up the next one and started eating. The fish was fine, since I didn’t mind salmon. There was asparagus on the plate, and I ate some of that, too.
“Oh, I hope they have those lovely red velvet cakes again,” Linda said. “Those are just to die for!”
“They are,” Brooke said.
Red velvet cake was coming up. Okay, I could get on board with that.
“So, Evan, what do you do for work?” Stephen asked.
At least he got my name right this time.
“I’m an architect,” I said. “Residential.”
“He went to Cornell,” Brooke said.
“Oh, really?” Stephen asked. “My brother went there. Were you in any fraternities?”
I swallowed a bite of salmon. “No, I wasn’t. Too much studying to do.”
“That’s a shame,” he said. “Were you in any clubs?”
Think, Handler. Think.
“I was in the chess club for a while,” I said.
Beside me, Brooke was sitting very still.
“Oh, chess club! Was Professor Darby your club advisor?”
“Uhh…”
Shit. I was blowing it. Sweat trickled down my temple. Brooke opened her mouth, but she was interrupted.
“Attention, please. Could I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?”
Someone was speaking into a microphone. Whatever he was about to say, I was grateful, because it saved me from answering any more questions.
The announcer talked about the museum and the fundraiser, thanking endless lists of volunteers. The waiters came around to take away the dinner plates.
Next, the winners of the silent auction were announced. The crowd politely applauded after each name was read. Charles won the ski weekend. And Brooke won the weekend for two in Boston.
“Yes!” she said.
Brooke slid her chair back and walked to the front of the room to collect her prize. Watching her walk away, I saw how every man in the place swiveled his head to watch her. In a sea of mostly black gowns, she stood out, so striking in her purple dress and dark hair.
Stephen leaned over toward me.
“This thing with you and Brooke, is it serious?”
“What?” I asked, not believing my ears.
“Dunno if you’re just a friend or a guy from the office.”
“No, I’m not just a friend or a co-worker. And yes, it’s serious, so back off,” I said.
He put his hands up. “Hey, no harm in trying.”
Brooke was heading back to our table holding her envelope. Stephen slid back over to his chair as I stood to pull out Brooke’s chair.
“Thank you, Evan. Wow, I can’t believe I finally won this! I bid too much.”
“When is it for?” Linda asked.
Brooke opened the envelope and pulled out a paper.
“It’s for a weekend this summer. Maybe Evan can come
with me.”
“Sure,” I said, not meeting her eyes.
I’d be long gone by summer, and I knew it. She’d go with some other guy. Maybe she could ask Stephen if she felt that way about him. The smug bastard.
“Oh, look, dessert is coming!” Linda said.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said. “I need some air.”
Brooke looked up at me, bewildered, as I headed for the exit.
Sixteen
I walked out to the lobby, and my phone rang. It was Matty. I slowed down a little, took a deep breath, and picked it up.
“Hey, Matty,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up? Sorry I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been busy studying for some huge tests.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ve been pretty busy myself.”
“How’s Operation Buy a House Coming?”
I sighed. “Well, it’s going a lot better. Pretty soon, I’ll have enough for a down payment. And I met a real estate agent who’s going to show me some small houses.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Matty said. “I won’t mind if I have to crash on Liam’s couch for a while. He’s a lot of fun.”
It was true. Liam practically rolled out the red carpet when Matty was around. He kept the place cleaner and cooked more. Matty was like the little brother Liam never had.
“Well, I’m really hoping you won’t have to do that again. I’m real close to getting the rest of the money together.”
“You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?” Matty said, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
I headed out the doors, into the fresh air outside the museum, and took a deep breath of cool spring air.
“Nothing you need to know about,” I joked, even though that was true.
“Okay. I gotta go, we’re heading out for pizza.”
“Okay, Matty. Take care of yourself.”
“I’m doing good, Evan. I promise. Later, the guys are here.”
He hung up, and I shoved my phone back into my pocket.
The museum door opened, and Brooke stepped out.
“There you are. I looked near the bathrooms, but I couldn’t find you.”
“Yeah. It was just getting stuffy in there, and this tie is bugging me.”
