“I would like to, but my home’s value has sunk and I owe a lot on it. It’ll be difficult to sell.” I rest my hands in my lap and scan the room for the waitress. I need a drink—my mouth is like cotton.
“I wouldn’t worry. If things work out for us, I will take care of selling your house. Would you like the buffet or the menu today? I can’t wait to dig into those sausages, and did you see how fluffy those pancakes look?”
I’m afraid he’s going to scrutinize my lack of eating. I can’t believe I thought I would need this dress to hide my stomach—I haven’t eaten anything since a few chips at the party last night, and I have no desire for a fluffy pancake. Wait, what did he say? He wants to buy my house? Sell my house? Say something, Claire. “Yes, the food looks great. I’m not that hungry, though. Not much of a morning eater.”
“Hi, folks. I’m Janice, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
God bless Janice. “Yes, can I have some water please?”
“You’re not going to have a drink? Bring two Bloody Mary’s.” I open my mouth to protest and he continues, “I will drink both if you don’t want yours. You may change your mind, though. They’re so good here.” He flashes me an irresistible smile.
Janice walks away and I think I see her roll her eyes. I hope Nathan didn’t notice that.
I look back and catch him staring at me. “So how was your party last night? Birthday party, right? Did you play pin the tail on the donkey?” He cracks himself up.
I know he’s joking, but I feel mildly protective of Brandon. “No, it was a lot of fun. Brandon, my neighbor, is in a band so there were a lot of cool people there.” I sound like I’m in high school.
Amused, Nathan responds, “Cool people? What kind of band?” He takes his Bloody Mary from Janice and takes a sip. She places mine in front of me and I thank her, even though I have to intention of touching it. Even if I felt well, that would not be my alcoholic beverage of choice at brunch. Tomato juice—yuck!
I regret bringing this up. “Rock, some metal—”
“Metal? How old is this guy?” Nathan’s face is contorted in displeasure.
I knew I shouldn’t have said anything as soon as I started to respond. Nathan is a real adult and he would never understand Brandon’s music. The thought of him in the same room with Bianca and Max makes me squirm in my chair. “He’s in his late twenties.” I add, “Some of that music is really good.”
“You’re so sweet to be supportive of your friend, but I doubt Bradley has appreciation of good music, like classical or jazz.” He motions for the waitress—she should have taken our order by now.
I don’t bother correcting him—the name mix up is an easy mistake. Janice returns and records Nathan’s order. I am digesting the mention of the word “jazz” when I am interrupted by Nathan’s voice, “Sweetie, what would you like? I’m having the buffet.”
“The buffet sounds great. Thank you, Janice.” I absentmindedly hand her my menu as sounds of jazz invade my brain—that incessant repetitive “doodle deedle” noise—I don’t even know what instrument makes that sound.
“Do you like jazz, Claire?” He raises his glass and I notice his watch, which is huge, expensive and diamond encrusted.
“I can appreciate the value of all music.” There, that was a safe response.
“I’m so glad! There is a wonderful little wine bar I want to take you to. Great food, too. You’ll love it—the jazz trio that plays there on Saturday nights is amazing.”
“Why don’t we go get our food? Those fluffy pancakes are calling your name.” My voice sounds suddenly too cheerful.
“Yes, let’s go. That’s so sweet of you.”
We get our food and I can see Nathan is hungry. His plate is piled high with sausages and bacon (double heart attack meats), and he has at least three or four blueberry pancakes, and a mound of scrambled eggs.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going back for seconds.”
Where does he put all of this food? I do my share of eating (when not with a man), so maybe he just has a fast metabolism like me.
“I would have offered to meet you at my house this morning. I just live around the corner, but it’s being redecorated and there are ladders and work things everywhere.” He gestures around the room to illustrate his description of disarray.
“Meeting you here was a great idea. So what kind of decorating are you doing?”
The conversation switches to a less stressful topic—I can talk about paint swatches and accent pillows as well as the next girl. It sounds like Nathan has an eye for color. The curtains in Brandon’s kitchen totally did not match his countertop.
“I’m glad you think you’ll like the color scheme. I agonized over it, you know? Trying to figure out what a woman would be happy with. There is nothing I want more than to share my life with a good woman, Claire.” He leans in closer across the table, almost getting maple syrup on his shirt, and says, “I think you could be that woman.”
I am stunned for a moment, but then a warm smile spreads across my face. Yes, I have just met him, but you just know when you meet the right man. We do have to get to know one another, and I have to relax, but yes, this feels right.
“I don’t know what to say Nathan, I’m flattered—”
“You don’t need to say a word. It’s so hard to meet a good woman, and in my profession especially, it is vital to have a quality lady by my side.”
I can be a good doctor’s wife. Maybe I could even do some of the volunteering I have been meaning to do—be more like my sister. Yes, this could be great. Maybe at the hospital.
“Do you have any tattoos, Claire?” He butters another croissant—doesn’t he know about cholesterol?
Flustered by the question, I reply, “No, I don’t. Why do you ask? I would probably get a little one somewhere, like on my ankle—”
“Oh God, no!” He says this loudly and then looks around to see if any of our fellow diners noticed. He looks relieved and wipes his brow with his napkin. “No, I’m just glad to hear that you don’t have any. That way you can be buried in a Jewish cemetery.”
He studies my puzzled look and adds, “Jews don’t believe in body modification. It’s desecration of God’s holy temple.”
“I did not know that.” I do like the idea of a serious relationship, but how have we jumped from paint colors to burial in one fell swoop?
I steer the conversation away from my final resting place and back to something more normal, like his work. Nathan tells me some stories about patients and his decision to become a doctor.
“I do earn a great deal of money, but it’s all about saving lives, Claire.” He takes my hand under the table and rests it on his leg. He removes his hand, and after a moment I swipe mine back.
“I’m sure it’s rewarding work.” I manage to eat a bite of now cold pancake. “Hey, I was thinking—maybe you could teach me to play golf. Since you’re so into it.” I blink hard and grin.
“That is such a lovely idea, Claire. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it, since you’re so good at mini golf.” Where is he going? His chair is right next to mine now and his lips are all over my neck. I immediately feel eyes on us—the room is filled with families and senior citizens.
I extricate myself from his embrace. I love the way it feels, but the sudden public display of affection has caught me off guard. Maybe golf talk is an aphrodisiac for him. That makes me giggle.
Nathan thinks I’m giggling at the neck nuzzling. “Ticklish, are you?” He motions towards my sides with his fingers poised in tickle monster mode, and I jump up in time to avoid a scene. “I’m sorry, I need the ladies’ room.”
“I’ll be right here when you get back, Sweetie.” I turn to walk towards the restrooms, and halfway there I look back over my shoulder, and yes—Nathan is watching me the whole way.
He’s flirtatious, so why is he keeping me from his house? How bad can it be? He’s currently sleeping there
, isn’t he? I hope he’s not married. No, Melanie would have known that. These doubts are probably my lack of experience talking. I have read all the relationship books, but none of them seem to help when I’m with a man. Maybe he just wants to avoid temptation out of respect for me.
I wash my hands and take a peek in the mirror. My lipstick is all worn off, but all the better for the goodbye kisses I am anticipating. He acted like this at the Charter House, too. This man is full of surprises.
Back at the table it looks like Nathan is settling up with bill with Janice. I hope he gave her a good tip, she’s so busy today.
We walk out to the sidewalk and he asks which way my car is parked. He takes my hand, and when we get to my car he takes my keys and opens the car door, climbing inside and starting the engine. He pops out and slips my purse off my shoulder, gently tossing it in the passenger side seat. Then he quickly grabs me and locks me in a full blown kiss, complete with hands moving so quickly I couldn’t catch them if I wanted to, which I don’t. Except when they reach my ass, since I spot the shocked look of the old couple in their Sunday finest headed towards the Stardust. I don’t want to ruin their appetites for their after church pancake breakfast with our sexual display in broad daylight. If it were late at night, or in a neighborhood full of bars and clubs, it would be different.
I wiggle out of his embrace and whisper in his ear. “Nathan, you’re an incredible kisser, but people are staring. Maybe this isn’t the best place for this—”
“Let them stare, Claire.” He holds both of my hands and steps back to arm’s length, looking me over. Smiling from ear to ear he says, “Yes, I think this is going to work for us. I have a good feeling.”
He closes the gap between us again and gives me a feather light kiss on the lips. “Have a wonderful day. I will be thinking of this.” He points back and forth between us and starts walking in the other direction.
“Bye, Nathan. Thanks for brunch!” I call out to his disappearing frame. He raises a hand in acknowledgment but doesn’t turn around.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Hey, have you heard from Justin?” Rebecca starts off Monday morning with a bang.
“No, I haven’t actually. But we just went out on Thursday, and I wasn’t exactly a bundle of fun at the end of the night. Why?”
“I just saw him in the elevator. He looks sad.” She comes in my office and closes the door.
“I know I’m going to have to deal with him, now that I’ve met Nathan, but I haven’t figured out what to say yet. It’s awkward. We’ve only been on one date, but it feels like I owe him an explanation.”
“Well, duh? Obviously you do. The poor guy is so confused. He probably keeps looking at his pretty face in the mirror wondering where he went wrong.” She smirks and then puts up her hands in self-defense. “I’m sorry. I know this is serious. So how was your weekend? I can’t believe you didn’t call me to tell me about the party and your date. You did have a date, right?” She raises one eyebrow.
“Yes, I did. Yesterday. Brunch at Stardust. The whole weekend was such a blur of activity I didn’t get a chance to call anybody. I haven’t talked to my mother since Easter, or Jackie since my visit. And I knew you’d be here front and center first thing today to get the story.”
“I should have been a reporter. So-o-o-o?” She assumes her usual position in my guest chair.
“I don’t even know where to start.” I tell her all about the party—the people I met, the band, the conversation with Brandon at the end of the night. I leave out some details, like crying over his picture in the foyer, and the awkwardness I felt when telling him about Nathan.
“I like this Brandon. So you think he was the one at O’Malley’s? That kid has a set of pipes on him! That music isn’t my cup of tea, but that place was rocking.”
He is a kid. A handsome blond kid who likes good music, and has a smile that would melt the polar ice caps. I’m happy for you. I hope it works out.
“At least you guys talked and he’s not mad. So tell me about Nathan.”
You don’t have limitations. “What did you say? My date? It was nice. We met at Stardust and—”
“Wait a minute. Stardust Café? Doesn’t he live near there? Why didn’t you meet at his house?” Rebecca picks through the candy bowl on my desk. Yes, I have started buying candy again.
“He does, but he didn’t ask me, and I thought it was best. I didn’t want to be tempted to go back to his place. Besides I think it shows what a respectful gentleman he is, and he’s having his place decorated.”
“Hmm…I guess.” She chooses and unwraps a peanut butter cup. “Decorated, huh? That’s odd. So was it a good date? What did you talk about?”
I tell her about the jazz and what he said about Brandon’s band—but leave out the Jewish cemetery/tattoo exchange. If she thinks decorating is weird, I can only imagine her reaction to that subject.
“Jazz? You hate jazz! Claire, honestly if I didn’t know better I would say you were into this guy for his money and status. But I know it’s his lack of interest in reproduction. You’re going to listen to jazz? That’s a big sacrifice for you. I would adopt triplets from Mars before I would hook up with a jazz lover.” She pops the chocolate in her mouth. That should shut her up for a moment. “You know…” she continues with a mouth full of chocolate, “…I don’t like Brandon’s band’s music so much either. What are they called?”
“Chain.”
“Right, Chain. Silly name, but they were talented and people loved them. I was drunk enough to have fun and not even care about the music. I’m just saying Nathan sounds like he may be a little stuffy. Does he like the ballet, too?”
Thank God I didn’t tell her he likes classical music. Did he mention the ballet?
“Rebecca, he’s a more cultured person. He probably worked hard to become that way after growing up in Brooklyn.”
“I guess that could be the case, but you need to have things in common, other than physical attraction and a desire to be childless.” She stops herself and says, “I know that isn’t your desire—well you know what I mean. I shouldn’t give you such a hard time. I’m just looking out for you. Sometimes you don’t think when it comes to men.” She pushes the candy bowl away to remove temptation. “Don’t tell Dr. Heart about your high cholesterol. He may put you on a diet. Lord knows I need one.” She holds her stomach.
“I didn’t tell him, and why would you think that?”
“Just seems like he could be controlling. I’m sorry. It’s probably just my own paranoia talking because of all my own bad experiences. So did he kiss you? Any action to report?”
I tell her about the kiss by the car and the nuzzling at the table. “He’s confident, but that doesn’t mean he’s controlling.”
“Did he order for you?”
“Of course not!” She doesn’t have to know about the Bloody Mary.
“You know, if he wasn’t obviously into you sexually, I would say he was gay.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Think about it. He’s dramatic, he knows how to decorate, likes wimpy music—if he said anything about show tunes I would have to call in a pro to figure this out.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor, Jeffrey.”
“He’s gay?”
“Yes, you know that. Don’t you remember the Halloween party last year?”
I do now. I have never seen such outlandish costumes. I thought all of the guests were women until they spoke or I shook their hands. “Yes, I do. What a waste of a night that was— there wasn’t one eligible man in the place, and I wore fishnets.” I pause and continue. “Nathan is absolutely not gay. He’s just more refined than the usual slobs we go out with.”
“You’re probably right. After all you were the one swapping spit with him—you should know. I’m happy for you if you’re happy. Just try to take it slow. When are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
; “He was so into you with that kiss and then he doesn’t—”
Rebecca stops in mid-sentence and we both stare at my phone vibrating on the desk. “Maybe that’s him.”
I pick up the phone and see that I have a text message.
“It’s him. He wants to see me tomorrow night.”
“Maybe you can try to introduce him to some better music.” She stands up and tosses all her candy wrappers in my trash can. “Can you do lunch today?”
“No, I need to run some errands. My head is in the clouds lately and I don’t even have any laundry detergent. I need clean underwear if I’m going to keep going on dates.” I smile and respond to Nathan’s message—yes, I would love to see him tomorrow night. Things are heating up. Gay, my ass.
I would not admit this to a living soul, but I’m going to McDonald’s for lunch. I just don’t have time for a proper meal out, and there is nothing in my refrigerator but some Angry Orchards (I did have time to pick those up—they were so good at the party), expired yogurt and maybe a stray shriveled grape or two.
People are such liars about eating fast food. Everyone at work claims they would never eat at the convenient McDonald’s on the corner, as if I’m suggesting that they should eat bugs off the sidewalk or snack on the contents of the dumpster out back. I barely passed my math classes, but I don’t see how it is possible that no one goes to McDonald’s. There is a McDonald’s within a mile radius of everywhere, and they have sold billions. I find it funny that many of my co-workers have no problem selling porn, but they’re embarrassed to own up to chowing down on an occasional Big Mac.
I just hope eating too much of it isn’t going to land me in the ER, as I try to forget about my cholesterol. I smile as I think of Nathan. If I had a medical emergency, he would be right there holding my hand and saying things like “stat” and “code blue,” giving me drugs with names I can’t pronounce and telling me how brave I am. As I’m sitting in my car eating fries, I’m startled by a knock on the window. I sigh and roll it down.
“Hey, Claire. I saw your car and—I see you’re eating. Is this a bad time? I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
There Are No Men Page 22
