“You could have told me about Damian.”
“Told you about what about me?” Damian returned and slid in, tapping the table in time to the music.
“I ... uh, that … you …”
Interesting! The cool, collected Cam Grayson on the hot seat! Sweet revenge!
“Oh, right.” Damian nodded his head. “They didn't tell you that I’m a … Dave Matthews fan.”
“Aaaaaggh!” Natalie, Sam, Elliott, and I all pelted him with coasters.
Cam finally saw the humor in the situation and threw his head back in laughter.
“Fine. You guys got me.” He opened his menu.
“Now can we PLEASE order some food?”
Elliott and Damian returned to the pool table after a satisfying round of burgers and fries, and Natalie and Sam took their leave to meet with her mother to attend to wedding planning duties.
That left Cam and me at the booth, finishing our drinks.
“So … the cool exterior of Cam Grayson CAN be cracked!” I said with a smirk.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you seemed to get pretty flustered about the whole Damian thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your cool like that.”
“Ever? In the many, many years that you’ve known me?” Cam joked.
“Oh, don’t try to change the subject. You were caught off guard!”
“Well, you have to admit, he doesn’t SEEM—”
“I know, like a priest. And to be fair, he is in civvies.
But he most definitely is a priest. But you know, Cam, they are allowed to eat, and it isn’t against the rules to play pool.”
“I know. He just seems so … down-to-earth.”
I looked over at my big brother, who at that moment was fist pumping after a particularly good shot.
“He is down-to-earth. I suppose that’s what makes him so very good at what he does.” I blew Damian a kiss as he winked at me.
“How did he arrive at the decision to take Orders?”
“Oh it wasn’t always in his plans,” I said, noting that Cam used the proper term “take Orders.” “When he was younger, he honestly thought he was going to be a rock star.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. He can play guitar, piano, drums—just about any instrument he picks up. Oh, and sing. When Damian used to sing and bat those blue eyes, girls swooned!”
“Wow! The ‘It factor,’ as they say.”
“In spades.” I suddenly remembered how Cam’s own green eyes next to Damian’s blue ones struck ME as pretty swoony earlier this evening. Wait. Just because we could have a pleasant conversation over a burger didn’t mean he wasn’t still the enemy.
“And …?” he prompted.
“Oh. And he did the sorts of things one does when one wants to pursue that career. He even auditioned for American Idol.”
Cam got a look of disbelief.
“Before you criticize, remember the successful people who have come out of that system—Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, Daughtry,” I said. “In any case, he didn’t make it past Hollywood Week and was very depressed. His talent seemed to have left him.
Then he was even more depressed.
“But rather than go into a spiral, he worked for my dad in our family’s nursery, and my nonna kept telling him to pray for guidance, and she of course kept her prayers up. One day, my dad heard him singing in the back of the nursery, but he wasn’t singing a rock song. He was singing a decidedly ‘churchy’ song.”
I looked up to see if Cam had a condescending look on his face, but he didn’t, so I continued.
“Not long after that, he said he felt the call and entered the seminary. The rest, as they say, is history. My family, especially my nonna, was in awe of him last year on the day he said his first Mass.”
We sat silently for a moment.
“Alexandria—” Cam began, then his phone rang. He glanced at the number, pulled a face, then slid out of the booth and answered impatiently. “It’s me. Yes. Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He threw some bills on the table and said, “Hey, look, I need to take care of a thing. Tell your brother it was nice to meet him. Um. See you at the office.”
He was off.
What was that? That was the second time I even began to think he was remotely human, and he dashed out after a pleasant evening. Nope, I won’t be fooled again.
“I Won’t Be Fooled Again.”
“What?” I looked over at Damian comfortably sprawled on my sofa. I was in my overstuffed rocker, and we were both sharing TastyKakes and tea after returning to my apartment from Govnr’s Park.
“I said, ‘I Won’t Be Fooled Again.’ I was trying earlier to remember the Who song that I sang for Senior Talent Show.”
“Oh. Right”
I got up to get more tea and sat next to him.
“So your friend Cam seems nice.”
“He’s not my friend,” I crossed my arms and pursed my lips.
“Wow. Your body language just went all the way back to being four years old and not wanting to eat your asparagus.”
I considered that statement. “You know, Cam is kind of like asparagus—all stalky and aloof and whatnot.”
“May I remind you that not only did you learn to like asparagus, but you also cook it amazingly well with a fantastic Hollandaise sauce?”
“Who said anything about love? I don’t love him!”
Damian grinned. “Interesting. I said ‘like,’ and you said ‘love’!”
I hit him with a pillow.
“I just misspoke,” I sniffed. “Anyway, thank you for the compliment. I do try to cook well, even if it leads me to trouble.”
“Hmm? How could that be?”
I told him about my recent dating gourmet fiascoes.
He roared with laughter, then put his arm around me.
“Ha! Might I offer a word or two of advice?”
“As my brother or my spiritual adviser?”
“Um, as a human?”
“Go on.”
“Why don’t you just wait and be a little more patient with these guys that you meet. You’re cute, smart, interesting, and funny. You have a lot to offer them. The cooking is a perk.”
I considered that.
“But I like to cook. You know I get that from Nonna. It’s how I express myself. I feel really alive when I cook.”
“Well, here’s a thought,” he said. “If you feel most like yourself when you cook, have you thought of doing it as more than a hobby?”
“What? That’s silly. No. I have a real job. I’ll just stick to the kitchen in my spare time.”
“What does the Asparagus Stalk think about this?”
“Who? Oh. Why should I care what Cam thinks?”
“Aha! You knew who I meant!” Damian smiled, ever the older brother. “That means he’s on your mind.”
He paused. “Look, Ally-Cat, all I know is that you always need to be true to yourself in all things. I’d suggest that you step back and take a look at this idea of working cooking into your life as a living. And as for the Asparagus Stalk, leave yourself open to the possibility that he really is a nice guy. Is he mean to you?”
“No, but he just irks me. Like the other night I had the gang over for Primanti’s.”
“Nice. What kind did you make?”
“Cappicola and cheese, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, he was supposed to show up, but at the last
minute, canceled.”
“And that made you angry, because …?”
“Damian, don’t sound like a priest for just a minute, be my brother. I don’t want counseling, I want—” I stopped. I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I think I know what you mean. You want someone to tell you that he’s wrong and you’re right. But, honeybunch, you know I can’t stop being a priest,” Damian smiled. “I think you need to do some searching as to where these feelings are coming from. Give the guy a chance. And tha
t’s coming from your brother AND your priest.”
“But—”
“I’m not saying you have to marry him. Just get to know him better. Maybe there is something that you can help him with and something he can help you with.”
“I doubt that,” I mumbled.
He ruffled my hair. “Baby sister, just think about it. Hey, I need to remind you that I need to get up early to visit Keira’s mom and get to the seminary to prepare for the retreat.” He kissed me and went to his bedroom. I rinsed our cups in the sink and went back to sit in bed. But I fell asleep there somehow, dreaming about huge fields of asparagus.
Chapter Ten
Damian and I met Mrs. Graham for an early morning weekday Mass at her church before I bid him good- bye. She would take him to breakfast before another priest from his order picked him up. After his retreat, he was flying directly home.
“I’m so happy you could work in a day to visit,” I said to him.
He hugged me. “Always a pleasure, Ally-Cat. Think about what I said, and if you want we can talk about it more when you come home for the baby’s party.”
“Oh, sure, you know how calm family get-togethers are. We’ll have lots of free time!” I laughed, knowing that the chaos of a D’Agostino holiday or any get- together was not for the faint of heart.
“Ah, but that’s the trick. That’s how we cull the herd.”
I hugged him once more and watched the two of them drive off to a café where they could have a visit, feeling once again lucky to have such fantastic, caring big brothers.
I reached the office and settled in to catch up on the morning’s work when my desk phone rang.
“Is this Andrea?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry, I might have the wrong number. Sacha said you would be expecting my call? I’m Kirk?”
Who? Ohhh! Recognition sunk in.
“Right, right, right. Sacha from Petra Salon said you’d be calling.” I didn’t have high hopes for this fellow since he’d already screwed up my name. “Actually, it’s Alexandria.”
“What?”
“My name—it’s ALEXandria, not Andrea.”
“Omigosh, I’m so sorry! Um...” He lingered too long on that ‘um.’ I know I don’t ask for sparkling conversation all the time, but seriously. Um?
“Yes, Kirk?”
“Um. I was wondering if you might want to get together? Maybe for coffee or something?”
Wow! This guy was really not winning any conversation awards. But, in fairness to Sacha, who must have seen something there and who wouldn’t steer me wrong (after all, she gave me a rockin’ hairstyle month after month, right?), I decided to go a little further down this path.
“I’ll tell you what, Kirk. You know the Pinkberry on Colorado Boulevard? How about if we meet there for a frozen yogurt after work this evening, at about six?”
Meeting for a cup of frozen yogurt couldn’t hurt, right? What’s the worst that could happen? I could scope out this guy, and if he was a total loser, I would at least have a sweet treat and he wouldn’t know where I lived and be able to stalk me.
“That sounds good, Alexandria. I’ll see you there.” He hung up.
“Waiit. How will I know you? Or you know me—” I spoke into empty air. Seriously?
My phone rang again.
“Um … Alexandria? It’s Kirk again?” No lie. “I kind of know what you look like based on Sacha’s description, but …?”
I decided to help him out a bit.
“I’m wearing a red sweater and—”
“Great. See you at about six.”
“Waiit! What about you?” But he had already hung up.
Oh well. I shook my head. We’ll see how this plays out. Who knows? This guy could be uber-gorgeous and that would make up for his lack of conversational prowess.
Wow! This guy was uber-gorgeous! I mean model gorgeous, like you could just stare at him for hours at a time.
I was sitting at a table outside Pinkberry waiting for the reticent Kirk when a cross between Bradley Cooper and Ryan Reynolds strolled up. Please, please, please let this be Kirk. Surely the universe was rewarding me! I stood up to meet my destiny.
“Alexandria?” I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned around. No, the universe had other plans. Not that this guy was an absolute troll, but he sure didn’t have those flashy good looks that the Adonis walking past me did. Bye-bye, GQ model!
“Kirk?” I assessed my blind date. He was of average height, with a friendly, open face. (Wait? Was I describing a guy or a puppy?) His crisp brown hair was perfectly cut—of course. He was Sacha’s client. And at that moment, as I took in his Denver midlevel office professional business casual uniform of khakis and button-down shirt, I seriously questioned my stylist’s assessment of this guy.
At that moment, he broke into a smile, and I could begin to see what Sacha must have seen. His brown eyes lit up, and the grin spread across his face.
“Whew! You don’t know how happy I am that you showed up! I must have sounded like a complete fool on the phone.”
Well. Yes. The guy on the phone DID sound like a bumbling idiot. This guy sounded liked his more confident twin brother. What was up with that?
“Oh, no,” I began, but I’m sure my tone sounded confused.
“It’s okay,” he laughed as he took my arm and ushered me toward the door. “Let me buy you a cup of yogurt and explain.”
We joined the line to the always bustling store, and he explained his earlier odd behavior.
“See, I wasn’t planning to call you right at that moment.”
Great. I was on a pity date. I moved to leave.
“Wait, hear me out. Like I said, I wasn’t planning to call you AT THAT MOMENT. But my, well, anyway someone else dialed the number that Sacha gave me and shoved my phone in my hand. I just was unprepared was all.”
I looked at him suspiciously. Who lets other people grab their phone away from them? Then I thought of the shenanigans that my pals Natalie and Elliott sometimes pull. And given my track record recently with misunderstandings, I felt I owed it to him to listen a bit longer. I looked at his apologetic face once more. He seemed sincere. Besides we were in the middle of a frozen yogurt shop—my favorite frozen yogurt shop—so I felt safe and decided to stay and give him a chance.
“All right, you have until the end of a small Original with strawberries and kiwis,” I said.
“Fantastic!” He placed our orders, and we moved to the corner table to continue our conversation.
“So, Kirk. When you are not prematurely dialing women in the greater Denver area, what do you do?”
He smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have a very glamorous job. I’m a professor.”
His stock with me rose. I had a lot of respect for anyone in the teaching profession.
“Really? Where?”
“I’m a music professor at University of Denver.”
“Really? Instrumental or vocal?”
“I teach piano and voice.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you choose Petra Salon for your haircuts? Most guys in your position are more the Supercuts or Great Clips type.”
“Are you saying I don’t deserve to treat myself to a good haircut?” He pulled his hands to his chest in mock indignation. “Do I not pass your inspection?”
As a matter of fact, as I looked closer, what I first thought was generic button-down and khakis was actually a handwoven cotton shirt in a muted rust tone paired with flat-fronted cotton slacks pressed very crisply. I guess I was just expecting a loser and had looked at him through loser goggles. He really was very nice looking and nicely turned out.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just—”
He laughed. “Don’t apologize. I know that stereotyped music profs are more given to shaggy beards and mismatched clothes from the rag bag.”
“No, of course not,” I began but then decided to be honest. “Well, yes. How is it that you look more like,
well … you?”
He explained that he had always enjoyed nice clothes and didn’t see a reason to stop reading GQ once he decided to major in music.
His explanation seemed logical … wait. I hated the fact that the next thought that popped into my head was so un-PC.
“So, your former, um, girlfriends—were they musicians as well?”
“Is that your roundabout way of asking if I’m gay?” he asked with an amused look on his face. “If so, no, I am not. I’m just a guy who likes to dress well.”
“Oh, you just have to understand, I’ve had interesting experiences recently with first dates.” I stopped. Great. This would be some sort of record. I really didn’t need to ruin this date ten minutes into it. I decided to switch gears.
“So, Kirk, have you lived in Denver long?”
“I moved here after grad school at Berklee College of Music. I actually grew up in Cincinnati.”
“I guess we would not be able to spend a couple of Sundays in the fall together then.” I attempted to joke.
“Why?”
“You know, Steelers and Bengals? Division rivalry?”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I’m not really a big football fan.”
What! Football in my family was second only to food in passionate discussions over the dinner table. My brother Anthony once brought home a girl for dinner who yawned during an explanation of an onside kick, and the poor thing went home in tears after she was berated. And that was from Nonna.
“Oh.”
My feelings must have shown on my face because Kirk hurried to say, “It’s not that I don’t watch it. It’s just that it’s not my favorite thing.”
Okay. Not his favorite thing, but at least he watched it. We could work with that. Let’s try something else.
“What do you do when you aren’t teaching?”
“Well, it takes up a lot of my time. Wait,” he hesitated. I had flashbacks of Phone Kirk, with the
halting language. “We haven’t talked about you. I’d like to know about you.”
Well, that was odd, but refreshing. I was not really used to a guy who didn’t monopolize the first date extolling his best features. We spent a companionable next ten minutes with me answering questions about my life and work, until Kirk looked at his watch.
Love on the Back Burner Page 8
