The Shameless Hour

by Sarina Bowen

  “So you’re just going to let the job go?”

  I closed my computer, hoping Rafe would take the hint that study time was over. “It’s not like I need the money, right? That’s lucky.” In a strange way, Trevi’s shitty news was a relief. Because now I could stop worrying about missing practice and letting people down.

  “It was never about the money, I think.”

  So true. “The new coach was never my biggest fan, okay? Maybe this is the best way for him to say it without having to say it. The man can hire whomever he wants.”

  Rafe made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. Then he closed his notebook and shoved it into his book bag. “It sucks, though.” He stood. “I won’t see you tomorrow. Are we still on for Saturday night?”

  I was going to have to give myself a major pep talk before I faced my family. “Saturday night is unavoidable for me. But if you don’t feel like dressing up to eat fussy food in a room full of philanthropists, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no trouble. How dressy are we talking about?”

  “Coat and tie.”

  “That’s easy,” he said, pausing beside the bed. He put one warm hand on my head for a second, and it was all I could do to keep from leaning into it. Then he took it away again. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You too,” I said, as if it was something friends just said to one another. As if I weren’t the one who was quite obviously self-destructing.

  Nineteen

  Rafe

  Bella and I rode into the city on the Metro North train in a comfortable silence. As the buildings began to get taller, I asked, “What’s the goal for tonight?”

  She looked up from the book she was reading on her phone. “The goal?”

  If tonight weren’t complicated for some reason, then Bella wouldn’t have needed a date. “Who needs to be impressed, and who needs to be avoided? Just give me the lay of the land.”

  She stashed her phone. “Well, I invited you as a buffer. My family will be nicer to me if you’re there.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be nice?” I asked.

  She looked out the window. “We had a blow-up a couple of years ago. There isn’t a lot of trust between us. But my parents are civil people to the core. They’ll be nice. They’re very good at it. My sister is more of a wild card. And if there’s anyone I’m avoiding, it’s her snake of a husband.”

  “Okay,” I said. I could work with that.

  When the train pulled into the 125th Street station, I found it odd not to get off. My whole life I’d lived in the northernmost part of the city, where Bella and her friends never bothered to tread.

  The doors shut again after a minute, and the train barreled downtown, entering the tunnel at 97th Street. When the train stopped at Grand Central, we got out to head for the 42nd Street exit. “Can’t beat this commute,” I said. Cipriani was right across the street.

  “That’s the only thing tonight has going for it,” Bella said, her face stony.

  I patted my chest. “The only thing? What about your fabulous fake boyfriend who’s here to meet the parents?”

  Bella’s eyes crinkled with the first humor that I’d seen on her in a week. “You don’t have to be the fake boyfriend. You can just be the date. They wouldn’t believe that we were really together, anyway. They know me.”

  They wouldn’t believe her? That’s fucked, I felt like saying. “I like a challenge,” I said instead.

  “Whatever floats your paddleboat,” Bella said as we approached the door. “I appreciate you coming with me tonight.”

  I hustled past Bella so I could open the door for my fake girlfriend. “This is really such a chore,” I told her, holding it open. “A night without dining hall food.”

  “The food won’t be that good,” Bella warned.

  “Yeah, but I’m not cooking it. Big difference.”

  “And there’s free wine,” she added.

  “That’s my favorite kind.” Although I couldn’t help remembering what had happened the last time Bella and I drank wine together. Dios. I needed to stop thinking about that. But Bella was wearing a sleek red dress that drew my eyes down her body to her long legs. Even though I rarely saw Bella in anything dressier than a pair of jeans and a hockey T-shirt, she had the kind of curves loose clothing couldn’t hide. And tonight they were all on display.

  It was going to be a long evening.

  Bella led me toward the main ballroom. Cipriani was an old New York mainstay of the banquet set. It was the sort of place that was built to impress, with high columns stretching up to a soaring ceiling. “What a dump,” I joked as Bella declined the coat check.

  “I’ll keep my wrap in case we need to make a quick getaway,” she said.

  Tonight I’d let Bickley lend me one of his designer jackets. Looking at the crowd in this room, I was glad I had. The men wore sleek dark suits and European ties. The women wore dresses, many of which were far more elaborate than Bella’s simple design.

  None of them were half as beautiful as Bella.

  “Drinks before family,” she said, grabbing my hand in order to lead me toward a bar.

  I closed my fingers around her slim palm. When we reached the bartender, Bella tried to let go, but I wasn’t having it. “I always hold my fake girlfriend’s hand in a crowd,” I explained.

  She shifted her handbag around her body. “Just don’t get between me and my alcoholic beverage, or your fake girlfriend is going to get ornery.”

  After the bartender passed two glasses of red wine to us, Bella began to look around the room. “This boondoggle is for a public health nonprofit. But it’s all Wall Street types. Because that’s who can afford a thousand dollars a plate.”

  I nearly dropped my glass. “A grand? Are you telling me that your parents spent a thousand dollars to have your fake boyfriend attend this thing?”

  “Not really.” Bella gave her head a single shake. “They bought a table because my sister works for this charity. The organization is giving her an award tonight, which is why my presence was requested. But it’s just a scam, anyway. When Mommy and Daddy are one of your biggest contributors, who else are they going to hand that award to?”

  Huh. The politics of Bella’s family were different than the politics of my family. But just as complicated.

  “There they are,” she said suddenly, gesturing toward a round table up front.

  Hand in hand, we walked over to the front corner of the room, where Bella’s parents sat. Even if she hadn’t pointed them out, I would have had no trouble identifying Bella’s mother. She was beautiful like her daughter, though her hair was swept up in a severe style Bella would never have tolerated. Her father looked much older than his wife. While Bella’s mom looked to be in her forties, Bella’s dad was sixty-five if he was a day.

  Bella’s mom jumped up to kiss her when we arrived. “You look lovely, sweetheart,” she said, and I relaxed a little bit. After our conversation on the way in, I’d half expected Bella’s parents to have horns and a tail.

  “This is Rafe,” Bella said, squeezing my hand. “Rafe, this is Lydia and Jack.”

  I had to drop Bella’s hand in order to shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,” I said. “And you too, sir.”

  Bella gave my finger a pinch, as if to suggest I was laying it on a little too thick.

  “Likewise.” Bella’s mother beamed at me. “Did you two just get off the train?”

  The question put me on my guard, because it made me wonder if she was trying to figure out whether or not I was a Harkness student. Maybe I’m paranoid, but the only other Hispanic dudes in this room were pouring water into the drinking glasses. It was hard not to get a chip on your shoulder sometimes.

  “Rafe lives in my entryway,” Bella said, perhaps reading the same thing into the question. “And we have a class together. Urban Studies.”

  “Lovely,” Lydia said, seating herself again.

  “Here, belleza,” I said, usin
g a Spanish word for “beautiful” which had the same root as Bella’s name. If she were my real girlfriend, that’s what I’d call her. I pulled out Bella’s chair with a small flourish.

  She gave me the wide eyes as she sat down. “Thank you.”

  Bella’s mother — Lydia — asked us a couple more polite questions about school, while Jack nodded along blandly. A band started up in the opposite corner of the room, and we all turned to look. It was a nine-piece band and when they began to play, Bella’s mother reached for her husband’s hand. “You’ll dance with me, won’t you Jack?”

  He held up his empty scotch glass. “I was going to make a trip to the bar.”

  She stood and smiled at him. “You can do that after we foxtrot.”

  With a weary chuckle, he stood. “It’s a deal.”

  I watched them move toward the dance floor, Mr. Hall taking his wife’s hand gamely enough. He had it pretty good, I thought. When I was sixty-five, with two grown kids, I hoped my wife would still want to dance with me.

  Bella took a big gulp of her wine. “Brace yourself. Here comes my sister.”

  I turned to see another beauty approaching. Bella’s sister was too thin, though. She looked angular in places where Bella was soft. Her smile wasn’t as genuine as her sister’s, either. And it was hard to get a fix on her age. She probably wasn’t that much older than Bella, but she carried herself stiffly, like somebody’s uptight auntie.

  “Hi, Isabelle,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. She went for both sides, too, which caught Bella off guard.

  “What, are we European now?” she asked.

  Her sister’s mouth got tight. “I haven’t seen you in forever, that’s all.” She looked to me as I rose from my chair to shake her hand. “I’m Julie,” she offered.

  “Rafe. It’s a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Julie insisted, picking out a seat and tossing her little purse on the table. “I never meet Bella’s friends anymore. She’s never around.”

  Beside me, Bella seemed to grit her teeth. Her wine glass was empty, and that wouldn’t do. I stood. “Julie, you don’t have a drink, yet. Can I make a run to the bar for you?”

  Julie tilted her head to the side and smiled at me. “Aren’t you sweet. I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”

  “One chardonnay and…” I put a hand on the back of Bella’s neck. “Another cab?” I picked up Bella’s empty glass.

  She looked up at me, and there was a glimmer of hesitation in her expression. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered in my best (fake) boyfriend voice. It was an easy role for me, because when given the chance, I was a good boyfriend. The kind people weren’t afraid to bring home to mom.

  Five minutes later I returned to find that Bella and her sister were still the only two at the table. Bella’s sister was giving Bella chapter and verse on some point of public health policy, while Bella listened with a half-interested gaze. Maybe a rescue was in order.

  “So, are we going to dance?” I asked.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” Bella said, picking up her fresh glass of wine.

  “Bella doesn’t like activities that you have to stand up for,” her sister said.

  I actually choked on a sip of my wine. Either Julie had just made a blatant attack on Bella’s character, or else she had no sense for innuendo.

  But Bella looked unfazed. “Actually, Julie, upright fucking is pretty awesome, especially against a wall. And I know Tucker likes it.”

  Her sister gasped. “For one night can you not act like a crazy bitch? When will you stop?”

  “When someone listens,” Bella said, her voice flat.

  Whoa. I practically had whiplash from the sudden turn this conversation had taken. And then it changed again, because Mrs. Hall returned to the table alone, a fresh glass of wine in her hand. She sat down between her two daughters, seeming not to notice the fact that they were staring daggers at each other.

  A moment later, an elderly stranger in a tuxedo approached the table. I expected him to greet the family, but he had a different agenda. “The band is taking requests,” he said. “Would anyone like a request card?” He held up a fountain pen in his hand.

  “No thank you,” Bella said quickly.

  “I would,” I said, raising my hand.

  The old man beamed. “Here you are.” He handed me a thick card. “Write down as many songs as you like.”

  I quickly jotted the word MERENGUE and handed it back.

  He palmed the card, squinting at it. “That’s not terribly specific,” he said. “Do you care to elaborate?”

  “Any one will do,” I said.

  The old man grinned. “All right, then. I believe I will take your request over right away. It would be worth it to get some young blood on that floor.” He winked and walked toward the band.

  “What did you just do?” asked a wary Bella.

  “I made a request. Hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”

  Her eyes widened. “I told you I don’t dance.”

  I sipped my wine so I wouldn’t laugh. “It’s just like running, Bella. Anyone with two feet can do it. And I’m pretty sure that some of those people over there are making do with barely that.”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s not my thing.”

  “Try anything once, right?”

  Bella’s mother and sister were hanging on every word. At least Bella and Julie weren’t fighting anymore.

  It was only two minutes later when I heard it starting up — that classic one-two merengue rhythm. It was the soundtrack of my whole life. “Here we go,” I said, standing up. I offered Bella my hand.

  She shook her head. Even worse, she scooted her chair toward the wall. On the dance floor, the energy picked up as the geezers began to move to the faster beat. “Don’t leave me hanging,” I said, my hand still hanging there in the air. “Come on now. Nobody puts Bella in a corner.”

  On the other side of the table, Bella’s sister snorted into her white wine, then began to laugh.

  Bella rolled her eyes. Hard. “You did not just quote Dirty Dancing.”

  I leaned down near Bella’s ear. “I did. Now get your ass out of that chair like the girl in the movie or I’ll have to put you in a fireman’s hold.”

  Her mouth tight, Bella stood. Not one to waste an opportunity, I clasped her hand, tugging her onto the dance floor. When we reached the center, I put one hand onto Bella’s waist and took her opposite hand in mine. She was as stiff as a piece of wood. “Shake it off, chica. This is supposed to be fun.”

  “Your job tonight was to make my life less embarrassing. Not more.”

  “I am. Because we’re going to be the best looking dancers on this floor, and everyone in this mausoleum is going to wonder how I got so lucky as to be here with you. Now listen to this rhythm, okay? Just step to the beat. And let your hips absorb the motion.” I began to step in place, moving to the music. The merengue is a Dominican dance and every kid in my neighborhood can merengue before his fifth birthday. It’s just not that complicated.

  With nervous eyes, Bella began to move.

  “Use the hips,” I prompted, tapping a finger to the silky fabric of her dress. As I watched, she loosened up a tiny fraction. I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You look amazing in this dress. Now move those hips a little more and you’re there.”

  Biting her lip, Bella moved with me.

  “See? Nothing to it. Now here’s the final touch — step forward towards me, then back again.” I guided her close to my body. “See? Now you like me…” I let her fall back. “Now you don’t. Just like in real life.”

  And, just like that, we had a proper merengue going on. “There. I knew you could move.”

  Bella pouted. “We’ve seen each other’s moves, Rafe.”

  She lifted her eyes, and the heat in them went straight to my dick. Jesucristo. That was the trouble with getting too c
lose to Bella. I was always going to be susceptible to her. Anything she did to remind me of that night was always going to knock me right over.

  “Ha,” she said. “I finally found a way to shut you up.” Bella put a little more effort into her merengue, looking smug.

  “Just for that, I’m going to spin you now.”

  Her eyes popped wide. “No, don’t.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t the tango. Merengue is an easygoing dance. I’m raising your right arm, and you’re going to turn around under it without breaking the beat. Nice and slow. Now turn. To your right.” I lifted our hands above her head.

  Bella rotated right on schedule, facing me again after four beats. If I wasn’t mistaken, she looked rather pleased with herself.

  “See? You can stop acting like this is torture. I’ve kept you away from your family for at least three minutes.” I returned my hand to Bella’s sleek waist, trying not to notice how good it felt to hold her there.

  “Good point,” she murmured.

  The dance floor was more crowded than it had been a few minutes ago. And I could tell when Bella relaxed, because she smiled at me the next time I turned her.

  This was worth a weird-ass night with her family. Because I’d finally made Bella smile.

  Unfortunately, all good merengues come to an end. And even though the crowd applauded more enthusiastically for my dance than for any other, the band segued into a slow song. I heard the opening strains of Louis Armstrong’s “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.”

  “Okay,” Bella said, stepping back. “I danced. Can I have more wine now?”

  “Almost,” I said, stepping close again, putting my hand on the small of her back. “One more. Because it just doesn’t make sense for your fake boyfriend to skip the slow dance.”

  “This is your game, not mine.” But Bella put her hand on my shoulder anyway, and let me lead her slowly around the floor.

  I was born in the wrong decade, I swear it. Because dancing to live music with a beautiful girl was absolutely my idea of a good time. “Turn, belleza,” I said, lifting my hand to gently spin her.

  When she came back around to face me, she had a startled look on her face.