Sadly, forgetting about his presence hadn’t been enough to make him disappear. A-la-kazam.
“Are you involved with this man? My God, Philippa, are you sleeping with him? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Too late I realized I’d be hearing about this kiss—and various admonitions associated with my behavior—until hell froze over.
And probably for a while after that.
“Oh shut up, Jeffrey,” Elaine said with surprising scorn. I wasn’t expecting her to come to my defense. “Much as I hate to break the news, the world does not revolve around you.”
Jeffrey turned on Elaine, animosity in his eyes. “You haven’t changed, but now you’ve changed Philippa. I’m not surprised! You just wait until I tell Judge Coxwell. You just wait until her family gets wind of this. You’ll be shut down so fast that you won’t have time to blink, and it’ll be just what a hussy like you deserves.”
Elaine’s face turned scarlet. “Oh, I thought you were an ass before, but this...”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Nick intervened, raising one hand. “Deep breath all around. Let’s calm down before someone gets hurt.”
Elaine folded her arms across her chest, as sullen as a spoiled princess denied her golden ball.
Jeffrey’s gaze fixed on Nick’s hand, where it rested on my elbow. He spoke through his gritted teeth, a neat trick he had probably learned from my father. “Philippa, I have made reservations for twelve-fifteen at Sabatino’s. If you intend to accompany me, we shall have to go now or Victor will be forced to surrender the table.”
I had a much better offer. “I’m sorry, Jeffrey, but my mother never told me about her arrangements until this morning. And I’m, uh, busy for lunch today.”
Jeffrey’s nostrils flared. He really was my father thirty years younger. “Your father expects me to take you to lunch. I intend to take you for lunch, and I intend to do so today.”
Because it was a great career move.
Be still, my foolish heart. “I’m not going, Jeffrey.” I smiled for him. “Be honest with yourself—you don’t really want me to.”
His gaze flicked over me once, lingered tellingly on the run in my stocking and mud caked on my shoe. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he insisted with gallantry that was far from convincing. “Of course, I want to take you to lunch.”
“Good choice, Philippa,” Elaine declared, then affected Jeffrey’s upscale accent. “You have to watch the class of people with whom you consort. I wouldn’t date him either.”
Jeffrey looked fit to explode. His hands clenched and he looked daggers at Elaine.
Who smiled.
“Gad!” Joel stepped out of the shadows at the back door and I jumped a bit because I hadn’t realized he was there. “I should come inside more often. I had no idea life was so interesting in here.” He leered at Nick’s butt, then turned an appreciative eye on Jeffrey. “And such fine scenery—” he lisped, then rolled his eyes and shivered in apparent delight.
I winced at what Joel called his Drag Queen voice—because he only uses it to make people uncomfortable.
It works.
Joel pulled out a chair, then propped his chin on his hand and gazed at a horrified Jeffrey in apparent adoration. “I’ll go for lunch with you, cowboy.” He winked. “How else can I make your dreams come true?”
Jeffrey turned as red as a beet and I tried not to laugh. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and when he did speak, he was far from coherent. “Why you, but you, you’re, you’re...”
“A flaming fag,” Joel provided with gusto. He opened his eyes with mock astonishment. “But why are you so surprised, big shooter? Aren’t you?”
Jeffrey went white. Elaine made a choking sound that might have been laughter.
Joel lifted one hand to his mouth in feigned dismay. “Oh, my goodness gracious golly me, you mean you’re straight? Why I would never have guessed....”
That was apparently enough for Jeffrey. He offered a jumble of apologies, then fled to his car. We all watched out the window as he seemed to have problems with working the remote on his keychain.
“You know, Joel, that was a bit mean,” I said, because I felt that somebody should.
“He had it coming,” Nick said grimly, not surrendering my elbow.
Elaine wasn’t content to leave well enough alone. “Figures you drive a wanna-beemer!” she shouted, holding the door open with her foot. “A real lawyer would have the big sedan!”
Jeffrey straightened with dignity and bestowed a cold glance upon her. He surveyed Elaine’s Geo pointedly, then looked back. “Your car suits you—cheap and disposable.”
Yeow! I’d obviously missed something good.
But then I realized what it had to be. I suppose that it was only a matter of time before this happened. Elaine had dated every eligible guy on the Eastern Seaboard—sooner or later, I had to find one of her castoffs.
Or at least, my mother did.
I gathered that she and Jeffrey had not parted on good terms.
Elaine’s chin lifted. “Well, at least I’m not pretending to be more than I am. Honesty might be worth a try, McAllister.”
“Honesty?” Jeffrey propped his hands on his hips and practically barked. “Here’s some honesty—I worked hard for this car and everything I have, whereas you milk everything out of someone else. You don’t think this car is good enough because I’m driving it, but if someone gave it to you in exchange for services rendered, you’d snap up the keys without another thought.” He hauled open his car door savagely. “How’s that for honesty, Ms. Pope?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but revved the engine and squealed the tires as he left. If nothing else, Jeffrey hadn’t been one of Elaine’s usual no-fuss-no-muss affairs.
Nope, there was scar tissue there.
“Shit,” Elaine whispered, so low that we were obviously not supposed to hear her. “I hate it when he’s right.”
Then she turned back with a bright grin that didn’t hide how unsettled she was. “If you’re going for lunch, could you be back one-ish? I’ve got to scoot out to the Montgomery’s then and play with floor samples.”
“You didn’t say you knew Jeffrey.”
Nick became very interested in the floor pattern, but Joel listened unabashedly. “You didn’t ask.” Elaine slammed a sample book closed on her desk, sat down and blinked intently at her Day Timer.
“I’m asking now.”
Her glance could have been lethal. “Then, don’t.”
I took a step back, not used to her speaking sharply to me. Nick’s hand moved to the back of my waist and its weight was reassuring.
Elaine surveyed her kingdom, then flicked a finger at Joel. “Get your boots off those catalogs, my lady fair. They’re off to a client and I won’t have your dust on them.”
Joel shivered dramatically before he complied. “Oh, I love it when you get feisty.” He blew Elaine a kiss and she swung her hand at him in a playful swat.
“Shoo!”
“I get a tax credit for working with the emotionally impaired,” I told Nick, sotto-voce. “Though usually they’re slightly better behaved.”
“Something about that man that brings out the worst in us,” Elaine declared, jabbing one finger toward the departed BMW.
“Are you even gay?” Nick asked Joel. “Or were you just scaring the locals?”
Joel laughed heartily, speaking in his normal voice. “It’s all painfully true. I’m the token poof. Every design company needs one—we decided I could play with the rocks just to challenge expectations.”
“And you love it,” I reminded him.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Elaine growled. “Joel’s eye-candy for Philippa and me, and even better, he’s calorie free.”
Joel grinned and spread his hands, guilty as charged and proud of it.
“Your dog?” Nick asked, indicating Joel’s truck.
“Jezebel.” Joel beamed with pride. “Isn’t she the best?”
“Maybe no
t the best watchdog, but she has a good temperament.”
“Mess with me or the truck and you’ll change your mind but quick.”
“Jez is very loyal,” I confirmed.
Elaine was drumming her fingers and I knew she’d change the subject. “Oh, Mommy Coxwell will be furious that her matchmaking didn’t work,” she mused. She wasn’t much for dogs—which was why ol’ Jez hung out in the truck or yard instead of in the office—and usually changed the subject away from Joel’s darling. “Shall we mount a defense for you, Philippa?”
“Especially if she hears you chose the riff-raff,” Nick added. I looked at him in surprise, but he clearly knew what my mother thought of the Sullivans.
But then, she’s not the most subtle creature.
Elaine smiled, genuinely this time. “Welcome to the club of undesirables, Nick. Judging from your performance so far, you’re going to fit right in.”
“But he definitely complicates the mix with that whole sexy angle.” Joel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, I’d give that kiss a 7.7, Elaine. What did you think?”
“Well, it was a good approach.” She frowned, mocking the concentration of an Olympic judge as she surveyed us. I felt a blush rising from my toes. “Excellent delivery.”
“Great follow-through.” Joel agreed. “But don’t you think we could have seen some more creativity with the hands?”
“That’s enough,” I tried, but might as well have spit into the wind.
“Oh, maybe,” Elaine agreed. “But it was a public setting. I give him bonus points for not being too pushy under the circumstances.”
“You two are unbelievable.” I tugged Nick’s elbow. “We have to go, right now, otherwise the lines will be huge.”
But Nick didn’t move. “We have to know our score, Phil.” A wicked glint lit his eyes. “How else are we going to improve?”
Improve?
Joel hooted and applauded. “Points for attitude!”
“You’re all nuts.” I turned to leave, but didn’t get out the door quickly enough to miss hearing the conclusion.
“7.9, Joel,” Elaine decided. “Couldn’t be a shade less.”
“Average score, 7.8.” Joel winked. “Not bad for a new team of contenders.”
“Does that mean we take the gold?” Nick asked, apparently serious, and I gave up hoping the floor would swallow them—or me—whole. I tried to haul him forcibly out for lunch, but he was about as movable as a set of concrete steps.
Joel scribbled as though he was tallying scores, then poked at Elaine’s calculator. He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Nick, just the silver.”
He assumed the attitude of a sportscaster, seizing a letter-opener for his ‘microphone’. “The East German team is tough to beat, don’t you think, Elaine? They’ve got discipline and the endurance to really pull through in the end.” Joel offered her the end of the letter-opener.
“You’re right, Joel. Training is a lifestyle for them,” Elaine nodded sagely. “From the age of ten, they make tremendous sacrifices. It’s tough for our American kids to compete when the playing field isn’t level...”
“I could have you all committed and get some kind of volume discount,” I suggested, but everyone ignored me.
“I demand a steroid test,” Nick insisted.
Elaine nodded. “You know how they are! Did you see the shoulders on their so-called women’s swim team?”
“And the chest hair!” Joel added, before the pair of them started to laugh. Their routine collapsed without further ado.
Joel stood up and offered his hand. “Hey, Nick, I don’t know where you came from or who you are, but I like you. You ever change teams, you give me a call.”
Nick shook his hand. “I think I’m a lifer.”
Joel sighed theatrically. “All the good ones are.”
“I don’t think so.” Elaine gave Joel’s butt a pinch.
“See what I have to put up with?”
“It’s a damn shame,” Nick agreed.
I tugged his sleeve again. “Will you come on already?”
“Ready when you are.” Nick slipped his arm around my shoulders, heading for the door as though I had been the one holding them up. I caught the scent of his skin and felt suddenly flustered. I wasn’t used to Nick touching me so easily and I certainly hadn’t been touched by very many men overall.
Clearly I was out of my depth.
Again.
And I was a mess. Dressing for success would certainly help me summon a bit of composure. “I should change my shoes. These flats don’t look good with the suit.”
“Why, because I’m going black tie?” Nick rolled his eyes. “Forget your heels, let’s walk. It’s the company that counts, Phil, not what shoes you’re wearing.”
How was I going to resist a man who said things like that?
He grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door, sparing a jaunty wave for Elaine and Joel. “I am seriously on low fuel, Phil.” He eyed the line of fast food restaurants dubiously. “Take me someplace where everything doesn’t come with fries and I’m all yours.”
My heart skipped a beat, even though I knew he was just making a joke. “I know just the place.”
Chapter Seven
Don’t tell anyone, but ethnic food is my secret weapon. You won’t catch me snagging a burger—or anything else—from a typical fast food place. That kind of food is fast, all right. It makes a beeline for my butt, settles in and is just about impossible to aerobicize away.
Trust me on that one. The only thing worse are donuts.
But the rest of the world uses more discretion when filling their plates and their bellies than we often do. Give me lots of legumes and not much meat, give me whole grain bread so thick and chewy that I forget about butter—I never completely forget about butter, but I suffer temporary amnesia if the bread is good enough—give me beans and lentils and couscous and spinach pasta, give me vegetables until I can’t eat another bite.
Give me Indian and Thai, Szechuan and Hunan, Spanish and Moroccan, Italian and Greek. Give me big salads and interesting combinations of flavors, give me color and spice. This kind of food is guilt-free and filling, it’s gorgeous to look at and, as an added bonus, it gives my colon a daily workout.
There are always a few things to avoid, but they’re obvious ones—I’m not a dim sum fan, and I don’t eat anything deep-fried, I pass on the most sauces because they’re sugar city. Steamed rice, preferably brown and chewy, is my carb of choice, and I lean heavily towards vegetarian offerings, turning a blind eye to the pleasures of fat.
I love Indian food. I love the colors and the smells and the complex artistry of it. I love how it looks and how it surprises your tongue and how many different combinations and permutations of everything there are. I love spicy accented with sweet, maybe some sour. I even love the names of everything—string the names together to make a caravan to the unknown.
And when it comes to conjuring a little bit of nirvana in the kitchen, Chandra is the best.
Her restaurant is small and never crowded, a bit too far from the university for students and a bit too redolent of wondrous curries to attract the suits. It’s decorated in dirtied vivid hues that Elaine would never put together but that work all the same. They make me wonder whether my vision could ever stand to visit India.
Or maybe I was just thinking that way because I was with Nick. He’d probably been there a hundred times. I didn’t ask.
Chandra changes the look often, mixing and matching her collection of plates and linens. Today our table had a cloth of giddy pink edged in gold embroidery, topped with another laid diagonally in a yellow that would make your eyes pop all by itself. It shimmered against the fuchsia, then hummed when the waitress set plates of persimmon red on top. The table on my right had a green cloth as its base—it was exactly the hue of avocado paste and was vibrating quietly where it came close to the pink.
Lucia would have loved it.
I thought abou
t tucking something bright pink among the greens of Mrs. H.’s hellebores, just for fun.
I followed my usual menu strategy and enjoyed the wealth of possibilities for their own sakes. I chose what I would eat carefully, then drank lots of water and enjoyed every single bite. Eating slowly is another one of my state secrets.
So is savoring.
Nick meanwhile hoovered his way down Chandra’s sumptuous buffet twice before he stopped for breath.
“This—” he punctuated the work with an intense green look at me “—is really good. You are officially an angel of mercy.” He ran a piece of naan bread around the rim of his plate to catch the last of some sauce, then closed his eyes and did a little savoring of his own.
I watched him, then just about jumped through the ceiling when he suddenly opened his eyes.
“What’s in this? There’s a spice I don’t know in this curry. It’s darker, maybe deeper. What do they use?”
“She, not they. Chandra.” I sipped my water. “And I have no idea.”
“She doesn’t share her recipes?”
“I’ve never asked.”
He was clearly incredulous. “Why not? This is fantastic.”
“Well, I don’t cook, so there’s no point.” I shrugged. “I just come here.”
If I had been trying to deflect his attention, I’d just failed. Nick propped his elbows on the table to give me his undivided attention. Butterflies on pins have nothing on what I was feeling in that moment.
“How can you not cook? Everyone cooks. What do you eat?”
That steady look should come with a warning label. “I make toast and herbal tea. I nuke broccoli. These are the extent of my culinary talents.”
He snorted, threw his napkin on the table and picked up his plate to return to the buffet. “No wonder you’ve lost so much weight. You’ve got to eat, Phil.”
It took me a minute to find my voice. “I do eat! That’s my problem!”
But he didn’t get it. “You’re not eating much here. And you ate nothing this morning.” He shook his head. “You’ll fade away to a shadow, Phil. You need to take care of yourself.”
“For God’s sake, I’m hardly anorexic.”
Third Time Lucky: Volume 1 (The Coxwells) Page 12
