“You've had it?” he asks in confusion.
“Spanish wines in general are terrible, but yes I've had it,” I say.
My sarcasm is strong.
“What? You think I don't drink?” I ask.
“You are nineteen? No?” he says.
“I spent the summer in Italy,” I remind him. “Italians live on good wine, and aren’t so uptight about drinking age,” I educate Connor. “I can appreciate what they do well, and that's wine. Italians know how to order a bottle of wine. They know better than to order the most expensive bottle on the list, just because it's there. That is what you did,” I scold.
It feels good.
“Wow, I lit a fire there didn't I?” Connor says, shrugging.
“What else do you hate about me?” he says.
Shit.
He is interested now.
I was hoping to just use this time to send Noah some naughty texts, and maybe eat a bit of salad or gnocchi.
I can tell Connor isn’t going to leave me alone and wants to have a real ‘date’.
Shit, again.
I put my phone away, again.
I suppose it can’t hurt to do a little grooming and make Connor even a bit more tolerable.
“Your hair,” I shrug.
“It makes you appear as though you’re trying to be someone you aren’t,” I tell him.
His cut resembles Noah's too much.
It doesn't suit his face.
“It's too long?” he asks stupidly.
“Grow it,” I say.
This is a command, not a request.
“What else?” he asks, taking mental notes.
Idiot.
“You squint. It looks like you need glasses,” I say, pointing at his eyes.
“I do,” Connor shrugs.
“They're in my pocket,” he says, smugly, as he pats the pocket of his blue blazer.
“Then wear them, Connor,” I tell him. “Without them, you look like an imbecile. And while we're on that subject, stop wearing blue blazers with beige pants, you are no longer in prep school,” I say.
Suddenly, I am seething with rage.
This sad excuse for a man can’t even rate one-tenth of my attention, normally, and here I am trying to make him look better!
Why am I bothering?
Noah Stone called me ‘love’!
To hell with Connor.
I sip some water and give him the evil eye.
But, Connor doesn't deflate this time.
“It's kind of sexy, that you're not afraid to speak your mind,” he says.
“Most women don't speak to me like that. They find me intimidating.”
He’s fucking bragging!
How stupid!
I scoff at his posturing.
“How are you intimidating?” I say, stressing the word.
“Tell me what else I'm terrible at?” Connor insists.
This is slightly unnerving because the last time we spoke, he didn't like this side of me.
“Wait, I have to order myself a proper glass of wine,” I tell him loudly as the waiter passes by.
I gesture to the man and ask him to send over the sommelier.
Holding the bottle of Spanish red as though it were a dead animal, I tell the waiter to take it back.
He apologizes and runs off to find the sommelier.
“Learn how to order wine, before you take me out again,” I tell Connor, with some satisfaction.
“Noted,” Connor replies, delighted.
Somehow everything I'm saying, appears sexy to him.
The wine captain approaches.
We are briefly unified in determining which wine we should have.
The sommelier suggests a Burgundy, but I choose a Sonoma Cab instead.
It’s too heavy, really, for a light lunch, but I am trying to make a point.
And, that point is how much I really can’t stand Connor.
The wine captain tries again, and I relent, letting him talk me into a lesser merlot.
He brings a taster, and it’s very good.
Still, I am unsatisfied.
Connor watches it all, drinking it in.
He smiles and tries to act as if he knows what he’s doing, but mostly just mimics my actions.
I want to vomit in my mouth as he chews on the wine, pretending he can taste ‘cinnamon’ and ‘cloves’.
What a complete ass!
“You know what?” I say.
“Bring back that original Spanish vintage, please,” I tell the wine captain.
“I’m in the mood for something foul tasting,” I say, evilly.
That little exercise just wasted about twenty minutes.
The sommelier, a consummate professional, doesn’t even blink.
He surges off, and soon the waiter is back with that tired vintage.
The waiter makes a show of opening it and pours both of us a glass.
We clink them together, (why not?), and I take a sip.
It’s not too bad, actually.
But, Connor acts as if he’s suddenly drinking paint thinner.
Gasping, he tells the waiter to bring him a scotch whiskey, on the rocks.
Connor watches as the man leaves.
“This wine is terrible, isn’t it?” he asks, trying to make conversation.
I sip it.
Give Connor my best ‘fuck you’ smile.
Swallow it sensually.
And, wish it were Noah sitting across from me.
We order food, and while we eat, Connor tries again.
“What are you doing these days anyway Tinsley?” he says.
“I'm applying to Columbia,” I answer tersely.
I am deliberately short with him.
I’m ready to storm out.
I was enjoying my arugula salad, and now this moron wants to chat?
“Oh, I wasn't under that impression?” he says.
Connor is outrageously stupid.
“Didn't think I was smart enough?” I glare at him again.
Connor shakes his head.
“You seem plenty smart,” he answers, slyly.
“I didn't get the idea that was what you wanted to do with your life. What do you plan to pursue?” he says.
“Environmental chemistry,” I say.
Connor whistles.
“That is impressive!” he says.
“Imagine that! Me, dating an environmental chemist!” he says, and then whistles again.
I feel his is mocking me.
“Every other person in our circle wants to become a lawyer. That's what people with money do, Tinsley. But, you insist on being different,” he explains.
I don’t think I like his tone very much.
In fact, I am certain he’s being condescending to me!
“What does that mean?” I say.
It’s just too much to tolerate, and my anger flares up, again.
I stand to leave.
“My father mentioned you tend to do your own thing,” Connor explains. “You aren't like everyone else. It's not a bad thing Tinsley,” he says, trying to backpedal.
Too late.
“To him, it might be,” I say.
I'm miffed.
“He didn't seem to think so,” Connor's placid response catches me off guard as he holds his wine glass up. “Cheers to being different?” he says, thinking I need his olive branch.
I think for a moment, then sit back down.
“Cheers,” I want to counter him with something, but I don't have a reply.
“Nothing witty?” he says.
His features relax.
This is what I am stuck with?
“You're a less intense mockery of someone else,” I tell him.
“I may not be like everyone else, but at least I do what I want,” he says.
“Here's to that,” I say, mocking him with a toast.
Let’s see how he likes it.
This time when he raises an eyebrow, I see a flash of somet
hing else.
Connor wants me.
“Listen, I will be frank with you because you're so brutally honest. It's almost endearing. Our parents want us to end up together,” he says, conspiratorially.
He's so casual about it; I want to smash his face in, but I restrain myself.
I stay seated.
I don't have to be like everyone else; I'm not.
“So?” I shrug.
“We don't have to listen,” he says.
What is he getting at?
“But, it's the price we pay, for having everything, all the time,” he explains.
“I don’t know if you know this, Tinsley, but your father's company is in serious trouble at the moment, and the more time we spend together, the better it looks for our old men getting along,” he explains.
No.
I didn't realize the company was in trouble.
But the signs were there.
Signs I ignored.
My skin goes cold.
“The more we play along,” Connor tells me, “the better off everyone will be.”
“The more dates we go on, the more we do this, the more likely it is, they'll merge, anyway. Even if we don't end up married,” he says.
He feels like he just won something.
I am devastated at finally seeing just what is happening.
Connor's voice is smooth now.
I can see how he gets women into bed.
“So…” I sigh.
“If we keep going along, like this…”
“My father invests in Whittaker, your father's company stays out of trouble, everyone stays happy,” Connor is outright smiling now.
“You're talking about, pretending to date each other?” I am bewildered.
“Yeah,” he replies loudly.
He sucks some scotch into his slippery mouth.
He’s a weasel.
I hate him.
But now, seeing the bigger picture unfolding, I know why I can’t escape.
“We go out, make a show. Then, we go our separate ways. What's the big deal?” he asks.
“I'll think about it,” I respond, feeling hurt.
I’m just a commodity.
But, I identify two things I can't do.
I can't hurt Noah.
And, I can't cost my father his company.
“The man is exhausting,” I say, bellowing into the phone
I am walking down Fifth Avenue.
I've got at least ten-thousand dollars' worth of clothes I don't need in one bag.
“I don't see how women find him attractive,” I yell.
I can hear Hazel texting on her phone as she speaks.
“Well, he is gorgeous, and a player,” she says.
“Cece says he's got at least four women on the go, and apparently a huge dick.”
“He’s a huge dick, all right,” I laugh.
It's no accident that Hazel and I are friends.
My eyes are hazel, and her name is Hazel.
We made that joke once our first year of private school together, and, since then, we’ve stuck together like glue.
She's at Columbia for Law.
I'm on my way to her place.
I want to walk.
Get Connor's words out of my head.
“Well… it's better than your stupid crush on Noah Stone,” Hazel offers.
“Connor is a twit,” I report back.
“How does he even get women? He has nothing to offer except decent looks and a big fat bank account,” I cry.
“You answered your question, Tins,” Hazel says.
I have a vision of her shaking her head.
“At least you've gone on an actual date now,” she's says, gleefully. “You're not sitting in your room, pining over Noah Stone. That would have been sad if it hadn't been so entertaining,” she says, pausing while waiting for me to speak.
She apparently wants more details.
I sigh.
“You said you two went for a run?” she prods further.
I can't speak.
I don't want to lie to Hazel.
I don't want her to say anything either.
“Tins are you there?” she says.
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply.
I have to be very careful, but I also want to crow about how much Noah feels about me.
“We went running the second day I got back,” I respond, guilty.
“Oh my god!” she yells into the phone, and I rip out my headphones.
I can still hear her screaming as I put them back in, lowering the volume on my phone.
“You still have a crush on him!” she accuses me.
“So, what?” I reply.
“Did something happen?” Hazel's direct question means I can't get around it.
“Probably,” I stutter.
“Details!” Hazel screams again.
“Oh, will you wait!” I hang up as her doorman greets me.
I get in the elevator and think about Hazel.
Hazel's grandmother died last year, leaving everything to Hazel and Cece, her older sister.
Her grandmother was on the outs with her parents, and so were they.
Now, Hazel and Cece live in Gramercy Park, in a fabulous penthouse they’ve decorated.
Neither of them speaks with their parents anymore.
Cece is Connor's age, and she will be a lawyer as well.
Doesn’t anyone deviate from what’s expected of them in this world?
“You and Noah Stone?” Hazel shouts loudly as she answers her door.
I push her inside and slam the door closed.
“Is Cece here?” I ask.
“No. Tinsley, I demand you tell me what's going on!” she crows.
“Ok,” I tell her.
“Yes!” Hazel is suddenly jumping up and down, and I don't know what to make of this.
“Holy shit! He must be fantastic in bed! So, you guys are dating?” she continues.
“I'm not exactly… sure,” I don’t want to admit to anything.
I'm not even sure what we are, if I am honest with myself.
I know I care about him intensely.
“Well, isn't he still married to Olivia?” she asks.
“Yup,” I nod.
“Still married, though he's been talking about divorcing her. I guess that was what he wanted to talk about today,” I explain.
“This is so crazy,” Hazel flops down on her bed as we lay side by side.
“I applied to Colombia too,” I deflect.
“What!” Hazel sits up.
“For real!” I laugh.
“My parents agreed, so I did it, we'll find out in December if I got in,” I say.
“Oh, you'll get in, Ms. Valedictorian, top of our class,” Hazel wags her finger at me.
“Don't even go down that road, because you landed the Noah Stone prize, even while he's still married!” she says.
“Keep it down please,” I admonish her.
“There's no one here to even hear about it. How is he?” she asks again.
“He's good,” I offer.
I try to keep it close.
“Just good?” Hazel eyes me.
She means in bed.
“I've never slept with anyone else, so I have no one to compare it to. But, he is incredible,” I finally give her something.
Hazel stares at me for a few moments.
“You're in love with him,” She announces.
“I am not,” I shake my head.
I push away the feeling.
Are we in love?
“This is serious, isn't it? When did it happen?” Hazel continues.
“It’s not serious,” I lie.
“And I’m not talking about this, anymore. It’s private,” I say.
“Private my ass,” Hazel laughs.
“You date Noah Stone, and you’ve got half of Manhattan looking over your shoulder, waiting for your relationship to crumble,” she says.
Hazel is right.
My favorite place in the world, as long as he’s there.
Only, it's Connor.
“Hey, Connor,” I answer.
I take the call outside on their balcony, so Hazel can’t hear me.
“Have you thought about my offer?” he asks.
“Well…” I mull over this.
No.
Not at all.
I’m dating Noah Stone.
“Let's go on another date, then? This last one wasn't that bad was it?” he asks.
“It was an exercise, but sure,” I sigh.
I don't like having to say yes to him.
I feel like taking a shower, just to wash this emotional slime from me.
I hate that he thinks that we are a foregone conclusion.
“Listen, it's just for appearances. We're not doing anything. You won’t have to sleep with me. You're just pretending we like each other. Am I that bad?” he argues, rapid fire.
“Yes,” I'm honest with him.
“Well, at least we're honest with each other. I find you fascinating, but you're stubborn. Friday night?” he continues.
“Fine,” I groan.
Then I hang up on him.
Hazel is staring at me when I come back inside.
“Was that the fabulous Noah Stone?” she teases.
She knows it was Connor.
My face does all manner of contortions.
“Hah! I knew it! You are in love with Noah!” she cries in victory.
I stand there, trying to hide what is apparently very evident.
And, suddenly, I am afraid.
If Hazel can see this, who else will?
My parents?
Connor?
This has suddenly gotten far worse than I ever could imagine.
What am I going to do?
Hazel’s delighted laughter provides the perfect backdrop for my emotions.
In it, I hear the Universe mocking me, and crushing any hope I could ever have to be happy with my true love, Noah Stone.
7
Noah
September 30, 2009
I look out the window of the Sikorsky S-76 as it approaches New York City.
The view, as always, is spectacular.
I try to find my apartment building, but it’s hidden behind the Empire State.
The pilot banks around the tall skyscrapers of Wall Street, and I think again about how much money I am moving around, between my own holdings, and those of my clients.
Especially, Whittaker Energy.
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