by Holly O'Dell
"That we love torturing ourselves?" I said dryly, as I reached for my glass of water.
"So, how did it end?"
"Pardon me?"
"How did it end with the fiancee?"
Michael grinned. "Oh, I see, you're using the same trick I used on you last night."
I shrugged. "I'm not above it. Seriously, though, no pressure if you don't want to talk about it."
"Well, without boring you with all the details, Jillian wanted her freedom, and she found that freedom with, oh, let's see, an actor, a director, and eventually our boss."
I wrinkled my nose. "Eww. What was your boss like?"
"Happy as a middle-aged clam once he got her into bed."
"And you worked with both of them for a year after that?"
"Makes you think twice about dating your coworkers" His eyes darted toward the back of the restaurant, while I wondered why his comment stung as much as it did.
He expertly covered up his comment. "You want to know how desperate I was to find an explanation for what went wrong? I actually bought Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus."
"Wow, I've heard rumors that a man or two might have actually read that book. So," I asked him sheep ishly, "did you see it on my bookshelf last night and you were just too put off to bring it up?"
"No, I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you, but I might be doing that just now." He smiled, and for the first time, I noticed a dimple on his left cheek.
"You wanna talk about embarrassing? Once I worked out the nerves at our meeting, all I could think about was eating."
"I knew I'd win our little bet" Michael's eyes crinkled as he lifted his glass to his mouth. Much to my chagrin, I caught myself staring at his soft lips. "How does it feel eating crow?"
"Eating crow! That's something my mom would say"
"Oh, great, are you saying that I'm old and feminine?"
"No, just old." I winked.
"Do you even know how old I am?"
I offered a tongue-in-cheek guess. "Forty-nine"
Michael threw back his head and laughed. "Great guess. Try thirty-two."
"That's what I said. Thirty-two. When's your birthday?"
"March 9" Michael wrinkled his brow.
My lips curled. "Pisces"
"Ding! Ding! Ding!" Michael looked around. "If our waiter shows up, we'll have to ask him what fabulous prize our lovely contestant wins?"
I leaned over the table-had it just shrunk and brought us closer together?-and slugged Michael's tricep. Could he have been flexing just for me? "I'm a Cancer. Pisces make the best friends for us, or so the book Lucky Stars tells me. You probably saw that on the bookshelf, too" Was my low blood sugar clouding my thought process? Apparently our waiter had taken his lunch break.
"Yes, we are astrological matches. Quite compatible for each other." I wasn't quite sure if that's what he actually said, as my sights were elsewhere: watching the door, or more specifically, watching Devin exit.
Michael followed my gaze and his eyes cooled. "Was he here the whole time?"
"Nah. Just came in, scanned the place, and went away. I don't think he saw what he was looking for. Or maybe he saw us and scampered away. Like a scared little bunny."
"Why would he do that?"
"I'm telling you, the guy is one big puzzle."
"Do you think that's why women are drawn to him?" Michael sounded genuinely puzzled himself.
"Could be the supermodel good looks or the outrageous fortune, but sure, I suppose this air of mystery intrigues women."
"I've noticed that a lot about women, at least the ones I've dated," he amended. "The tougher a guy is to figure out, the more attracted they are to him."
I frowned, though I wasn't sure if it was because, on some level I knew he was right, and I didn't want to admit it.
Fortunately, I was spared a chance to respond, as our server finally arrived at the table, unapologetic for making us wait.
Michael gestured toward me, letting me order first. I realized that while I was feeling starved, I hadn't once opened the menu. When I did, I suddenly became selfconscious about what to order. Get over it, Kate, I said to myself. You're not on a first date. Don't be foolishorder what you want! "Chicken Caesar salad with dressing on the side," I ordered sheepishly.
Perplexed, Michael ordered steak tartare and a cold shrimp appetizer.
"I thought you were ravenous," he commented as the waiter walked away.
"Maybe the three sips of champagne have clouded my judgment," I unconvincingly offered.
"Cheap date" He smiled.
So I wasn't the only one who felt like we were on a date. Or maybe he was just being nice. Or maybe I didn't need to overanalyze it because this was strictly a business lunch.
I swiftly changed topics, a natural gift of mine. "What did you think of Fox?" I asked.
"He seems like a genuine guy" Michael nodded with pleasure in recalling the meeting. "And people around this city appear to think the same. Makes you wonder if Devin's trying to distance himself as far as possible from his perfect father."
"Try as we might, I believe we're destined to repeat our parents' patterns."
"I hope that's the case with me" I saw Michael's face soften for the first time. "My parents have been together for 35 years. When I was younger I was so embarrassed by their gushiness toward each other, but now, it's something that I really want for my own life, you know?" Michael paused, as if regretting what he said. He hastily changed the subject.
"So, have you been to this restaurant before?" he asked with no emotion.
And I thought Devin was a puzzle.
We shared idle chatter for about 10 minutes more before the food arrived. I picked at my salad, much like I picked at my food yesterday at the meal with Anna. What I needed was a hot pizza followed by a hot bath.
After the meal, I reached for my purse and pulled out a credit card. Michael reached across the table and gently pushed my hand away before searching through his own wallet.
"What are you doing?" I asked, the fatigue and poor nutrition from the last day finally catching up with me. "This was my bet, and I will make good on it."
"You didn't really think I was going to let you pay for this, did you?" The crease in Michael's head lessened. "Given what you've been through in the last twenty-four hours, I'd say that you're entitled to a free lunch, regardless of our silly little bet"
"Let me make you dinner some day"
Michael gave me an interested look and I suddenly panicked. Even though I was fatigued and famished beyond belief, I did not want to send the wrong signals. But what was right or wrong at this point? I couldn't determine how Michael interpreted my proposition. "Make you dinner" implied more than just a meal in a city where single men and women could barely tell the difference between the stove and the refrigerator. "I meant take you out for dinner," I backpedaled. "All in the name of business, you know. Because I am a cliche and can't cook" I squinted, trying to read Michael's expression.
Michael nodded halfheartedly. "Yeah, maybe sometime after work." He summoned the waiter so he could pay the bill.
I looked down and traced the condensation on the water glass, which sat next to my nearly full champagne glass and barely touched salad. My main concern now was getting into bed and sleeping. I glanced at my watch and noticed it was barely 3 P.M. What a lightweight.
Michael signed the receipt, walked to my side of the table, and offered me his arm. "Shall we?"
I accepted it graciously, taken aback by the gesture. The two of us exited the restaurant and waited on the curb for a taxi.
"How about we share the cab ride?" Michael suggested.
"Do you live by me?"
"No, but I want to be sure you make it home okay."
"It's daylight for at least another three hours. I'll be fine."
"I don't mind. You seem to have a hard time letting people do things for you, don't you?"
I had no energy to disagree, though I was sure the guilt would settle
soon.
A cab pulled up, and Michael opened the door. I was silent for most of the ride; so was Michael. Lunch was a roller coaster of conversation: We went from jovial, borderline-flirtatious banter to awkward silence, and back and forth again.
The driver pulled to the sidewalk in front of my apartment. I dug in my purse, and again Michael offered to pay for the whole thing when he got home. "Thank you," I said benignly. "I'll see you tomorrow at work."
I hustled out of the cab, but not before Michael asked the driver to wait and make sure I safely entered the building.
I started to walk up the stairs when something commanded me to stop. Uncontrollably, I turned to look back at the cab. That's when I saw that Michael was only two feet behind me. Blood rushed to my face.
He feverishly rubbed his sideburn. "I, uh, just take it easy, and I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" He then awkwardly patted my shoulder and bounded down the stairs back to the cab.
Once in my apartment, the first order of business was to splash some cool water on my face, then to call Anna for help in dissecting the day's events. And of course, there was that pizza calling my name ...
I walked toward the phone and noticed that the answering machine light was flashing. No need for voicemail in this household-nothing was as gratifying as a flashing light indicating someone wanted to talk to you, even if it was just someone trying to sell you new roofing or siding. I hit the button and heard that familiar voice.
"Kate, it's Devin. I saw you living it up with that Michael guy this afternoon. You were glowing." He chuckled slightly. "Well, I just wanted to say how great it was seeing you again today, and even though it's not a situation necessarily in my favor, I look forward to seeing more of you. Take care, babe"
"Ugh!" I screamed. I threw myself on the purple couch, and that's the last thing I remembered from this crazy day.
It was definitely getting too old for this, I thought as I punched the number twelve button on the elevator control panel. How could my beloved fellow New Yorkers stay up past 11 P.M. during the workweek? I had one stressful day, passed out before 6:00 P.M., and still could barely open my eyes enough to find my way to the bathroom, let alone to work. The elevator jolted when it stopped at Burton Relations, as did my stomach. I couldn't wait to tear into the bagel, muffin, and scone I had picked up on the way to work.
Oh, how easy it would have been to stay home. It made sense to not come in to work; I needed at least a day away from work to process the events of the previous twenty-four hours. And the fact that there's always some awkwardness the day after you go out for a workbut-not-really-work lunch with a single male coworker. You tend to open up about things that wouldn't have been said in an office setting, and then you obsess over whether you said too much or forgot that you might have said something incriminating. See, this is why I needed to go to work, despite whatever reaction I might get from Michael; I knew myself well enough that I would gradually become senile if I had that much time alone with my mind.
So I pulled myself out of bed, took a shower, brushed my teeth three times, threw on a pair of faded black trousers and a pale green sweater, and stumbled out the door without doing my hair or makeup. Or without my contacts, for that matter. My black-framed glasses with the scratched lenses and outdated prescription would have to suffice on a day in which I couldn't open my eyes more than a millimeter.
It was quite the contrast from yesterday's appearance-knowing my luck, this would be the day that a photographer from Glamour would snap my photo, only for it to appear in an issue with a black bar over my eyes under the "Fashion Don'ts" column.
I had three objectives when I got off the elevator: devour my carbohydrate breakfast of champions, wash it down with a pot of coffee, and stare blankly at my computer screen. I wanted to weep when I poured the first cup. Heading back toward my desk, I almost stumbled when I heard a distinctive female giggle coming from Michael's office.
Immediate curiosity struck, and I stuck my head out the door and sneakily peaked into his neighboring office through the crack where the door hinges meet the wall. There across from Michael sat an impossibly beautiful blond. She wore a simple white button-up shirt and red pants, yet she looked stunning. Michael presumably said something funny, because the woman giggled again with a toss of her silky, golden hair.
Who was she? She seemed so familiar. She certainly could not have been Michael's girlfriend-he'd never mentioned one before, and besides, she seemed too fun to be dating Michael. I hadn't heard about any new interns coming to work for us. I squinted through my glasses, trying to get a better look while keeping a low profile, but that didn't last for long.
"What, are you in cahoots with the paparazzi, Brown?" Gwen's shrill voice caused everyone within earshot to turn and look at me. "Why don't you just go in and talk to them, rather than longingly look at them from a distance? Hey, everyone, look! We have a Peeping Tammy right here in our office!" She laughed and walked off.
My face burning, I tried to pretend that I was looking for a file or a colleague or anything somewhat purposeful, but from the looks on their faces, I was pretty sure that Michael and the mystery woman knew that I was, in fact, a Peeping Tammy.
Michael stood up from his chair. "Kate, come on in, I want you to meet someone"
I was face to face with the blond, who was even more beautiful close up. She wore but a trace of makeup, yet she was flawlessly elegant. Despite the unflattering fluorescent lights overhead, her blue eyes still twinkled. How did I know this woman? Was she a former client? It hit me just as Michael was making his introductions.
"Kate Brown, Miranda Hamilton." He turned to Mi randa. "Kate is one of our top execs" He then turned to me. "And Miranda is-"
"A real, live movie star, right here in our humble offices," I interrupted as I extended my hand for a shake. "It's great to meet you" That was one of my weakest salutations, I'll admit. I didn't know much about the "celebrity-types," as Gwen so affectionately called them, but Miranda was everywhere, and even I couldn't claim ignorance on this one.
"Well, thank you for the kind words." Miranda sounded genuine, but then again, she was an actress, I reminded myself.
"So, what brings you here?" Please don't say you're a client of Michael's, because Gwen will be so excited that she will quit today and hand the reins over to him, and poof, there goes my promotion.
"Actually, I'm in town about to start a shoot. Michael is an old friend from his days in L.A., so I decided to pop in for a little visit." She turned to Michael, who beamed with pride.
What was with all the "old friends" that kept appearing in our office? First Fox Underhill, now Miranda Hamilton?
The three of us stood in silence for a moment. "Well, I should get back to work, or at least start work. Late morning, I guess." I stumbled through my words.
"Oh, yes, Michael filled me in on the shenanigans of yesterday afternoon"
My head snapped toward Michael, who was tracing a sheet of paper on his desk. I could not believe it he's telling someone who's a complete stranger to me about who knows what. I continued to stare at him, and he continued to awkwardly trace. "All good things, don't worry," Miranda smiled brightly at me, as if reading my thoughts. "Listen, Kate, would you like to join Michael and me for lunch?"
"I'd love to, but I have a Hot Pocket in the freezer that's been loyally waiting for me the past few days"
"Well, then, I insist that both of you join me for dinner tomorrow night."
"We can't," Michael spoke. "We have another event to cover."
We did, indeed-our first outing with Devin, a fundraiser for a children's cancer hospital.
"Then we definitely have to work something else out," Miranda said cheerfully.
"Definitely," I mimicked. If nothing else about my job, I have learned to read all the niceties that go along with the business.
Excusing myself, I went back to my office and immediately dialed Anna's cell. "Hey, it's me. You busy?"
"No, but in a little w
hile I'm actually heading to Bloomie's for a launch of a new makeup line. What's up?"
"Tell me what you know about Miranda Hamilton."
"Miranda Hamilton? I hear she's great!" Anna practically cooed. "I guess she used to do Broadway here occasionally, and this city just loves her. Hollywood loves her, the public loves her. She just seems really down to earth, from what I hear and read"
"Well, then, you'll be happy to hear that I met her today"
"No way!" Anna sounded like a thirteen-year-old girl who just saw the New Kids on the Block centerfold in Tiger Beat. "How? How did you meet her? I am doing my best to disguise my envy, you know."
"She actually is in the office right now. She's meeting with Michael-an `old friend' from Los Angeles."
"Uh-huh," Anna said knowingly. "Old friend. We know what that means."
"Exactly what I was thinking. I want to know how Michael dated someone like her. Okay, so he isn't that bad-looking, but come on"
Anna chuckled. "Ooh, somebody's jealous!"
"You've got to be kidding!" I fired back.
"Then why do you even care what their relationship is?"
"I don't. It's just that..
"It's just that, what?" Anna challenged me.
"It's just that I don't get it, and I don't like it when I don't get it."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Anna mumbled.
"I heard that!"
"So, would it be in poor taste for me to ask you to introduce me to her?"
This is where Anna and I greatly varied. She was star-struck-she got her sticky little paws on every tabloid and magazine that mentioned any sort of celebrity. I, on the other hand, never enjoyed that scene, despite the fact that my career sometimes put me in those situations. "She invited me out to dinner with her and Michael tomorrow night."
"Ohmigod! You're going, right?"
"A, Michael and I have to do a Devin thing, and B, she didn't mean it-my guess is that famous people just say that stuff to make the common folk feel special. However-and this is a big however-if she does happen to shatter the mold and follow through, then you should go in my stead"
"Woo-hoo!" Anna shrieked. "I owe you big time."
