I took Jenn's advice to heart. When Boyd Clemson dropped in the following Thursday, I asked him if he'd like to grab a sandwich at Zabars. I didn't know anything about the guy other than he was a few years older than I, sharp as a tack and really easy on the eyes.
Truthfully, I enjoyed his company. It was a nice change from the intensity I experienced with Kason. Boyd was about as laid-back and easy going as they come. He told me that his family had been in the publishing business for generations but his grandfather had sold the company back in the sixties for a tidy sum. His father had turned his considerable inheritance into a charitable foundation to promote the arts.
"I am what is disdainfully known as a 'trust fund baby'. Gramps putters around his bookstore. I putter around the world. When the trusts were set up, someone unwisely made them big enough to squash any motivation to work, but small enough to prevent any meaningful business investment," he told me over a pastrami sandwich and Dr. Brown's soda.
"You sound happy enough with your life."
"I am! I am content as hell. Kind of like a neutered Tomcat. I've been effectively castrated of ambition so I am free to devote myself to getting fat and complacent."
"You're not at all fat."
"I was speaking metaphorically."
We strolled a few blocks after lunch, digesting and talking Boyd was a big theater buff and enjoyed finding the most obscure off-off Broadway productions.
"I can make a big impact by hooking the unknowns up with Dad's foundation. It makes me happy to do it. I love theater. It's so much more 'real' than film."
I told him about my stint as stage manager for the Mahkeenac Little Theater. "I had a great time. I was amazed at how talented the actors were. I'd never seen any amateur theater before and I was just blown away by how good they were."
"The actors I know aren't paid much more than volunteers anyway. Some of the productions are just a pure labor of love."
Boyd started visiting the shop more frequently after our lunch and I began to look forward to seeing him once or twice a week. He was a self-taught computer whiz kid and helped me over more than one 'bump' in the new catalog system.
"I've always had lots of time and state-of-the-art equipment. Plus, geeky-ness runs in our family," he explained.
Boyd had a girlfriend who was in her last year of college and away in Spain for a semester abroad. That suited me fine. I wasn't interested in him as a potential boyfriend anyway. I just wanted to spend some time with someone who didn't make me crazy like Kason did. When Boyd asked me to pinch hit for a stage manager who'd broken his ankle, I was happy to oblige. I didn't realize it at the time, but my simple favor to my new friend would catapult my relationship to Kason into a brand new dimension.
Thirty five
He called Wednesday evening.
"What do you mean you can't go out Friday night? I haven't seen you at all this week!" Kason was petulant and acting like a spoiled child.
"I told you that I've committed to stage managing that off-off Broadway play until the regular guy is fit to return. Why don't you come see the play and we'll grab a bite to eat after?"
"Because I don't want to see your crappy little play. I want to have dinner, alone, with you at Per Se."
"I'm very sorry, but I simply can't."
"Blow it off," he demanded.
"No."
"So . . . you'd rather blow me off?"
"I'm not blowing you off. I've made a commitment and I can't back out of it just because . . ."
"Because I want to see you? What about your commitment to me?"
"I wasn't aware I had any commitment to you." That was cold, I know. But he was being unreasonable. There were plenty of late night options for dinner and his refusal to compromise got under my skin.
"You're absolutely right, Annalise. You have no commitment to me at all. Enjoy your weekend." He hung up the phone.
It's possible to feel right and wrong at the same time. Kason was out of line and I called him on it. Yay me. I didn't know when or if I'd hear from him again. Miserable is a pretty lame word for how rotten I felt. I spent Thursday and Friday in a daze of despair. Imagining a life without Kason—without him at all—took up every free thought I had. I didn't want to call Jenn. She hadn't been too thrilled with the whole idea of Kason in the first place. I couldn't call Mom. She and Dad were already a little hurt by what they perceived as Kason's abandonment and I hadn't told them that it was me who initiated that.
I couldn't really talk to Boyd, either. Somehow I hadn't gotten around to telling him about my bizarre relationship with a man who gave me lots of laughter, plenty of kick-ass dates and zero future. Boyd was all about his plans with his girlfriend Phoebe. He had their happy life all mapped out and that was enough to keep me quiet about mine.
I foolishly hoped that I'd spy Kason in the audience on Friday night. I peeked through the curtains at the audience expecting to see his tawny head towering above the crowd. I smiled with pity for the poor soul who has to sit behind my giant. Only he's not your giant, remember that.
"Hey, it's bad luck to look at the audience," Boyd laughed from behind me. "In which case, I've cursed every production I've ever been involved with. How's the house?"
"Filling up. Looks like we have a decent crowd." Except for the one person I hoped to see…
***
Concentrate. The computer screen was turning into a maze of nonsense. My mind just refused to obey me as I struggled to cross reference 'Shakespeare' with 'Elizabethan'. It was an important interface and I just could not seem to make it work.
Every time the little bell over the door rang I hoped that it would be Kason or at least the flower delivery guy. The last flowers I'd been sent were looking ragged on my coffee table, but I couldn't bring myself to throw them away. The finality of that was too much. It was a busy day and I had plenty of opportunities to be disappointed.
By the time I turned the key in the lock and headed for the subway I was so damn sad I wondered if I'd be able to make it through the night's performance without bursting into tears. The play was a very erotic tale of lovers who had been separated and reunited. Of course I couldn't watch it without thinking of Kason. I'd never hurt this way, never missed anyone so keenly, never felt so devastated at a loss. As I listened to the hum of the train over the track, I knew that this was my first real heartbreak. And with that realization came the knowledge that I did love Kason. Dancing around limitations and saying anything but the 'L' word didn't make what I felt anything but what it was. All the rationalization in the world couldn’t stop it from happening. Love trumps logic every time.
It was almost curtain time and I rushed through the stage door and took my place. There was barely enough time to close the store and get to the theater on time. If I had been getting paid I probably would have gotten fired for cutting it to the minute. But I wasn't, so everyone cut me a lot of slack. They were grateful to have me.
I took my place at stage left after I checked the line-up of props. The play was quite simply staged so I didn't have a lot to do, really.
Boyd came up beside me. "I'm leaving early tonight. Phobe's coming home in time for Christmas and I have to pick her up." He wore a full-body smile and I envied him.
"I'd love to meet her when the two of you come up for air."
"Oh for sure. I know you'll like her."
"I know I will, too."
It was during the first intermission that I saw him. Most of the people in the audience got up to stretch their legs or get a drink in the lobby, but Kason sat five rows back in the center section idly flipping through the playbill. Every nerve ending in my body woke up and started singing. He came, he came, he came!
I had two acts to compose myself which was a very good thing. It wouldn't do to go running down the aisle to leap into his arms. Appearing pleased, but not giddy was the goal. And I knew better than to even hint at how triumphant I felt. But his presence sure felt like a victory to me.
During the second
intermission he left his seat and I waited behind the curtain agonizing over whether he would return for the final act. The play wasn't on a par with the kind of things we'd gone to see on Broadway. It wasn't even close to as good as the production Kason had starred in at the Mahkeenac Little Theater. This one wasn't going to win any Pulitzer Prize, that's for sure. I hoped he had the patience to stick it out.
After the last act crawled millimeter by millimeter to its conclusion, I couldn't wait for the actors to finish their bows. I could bolt out of there almost as soon as the curtain came down for the last time. I'd already put the props back in their places for the Sunday matinee and was tidying up the last bits and pieces when I felt him behind me.
He took my shoulders and spun me around to face him. Without a word, he drew me into a savage, mastering kiss. I willed my mouth to answer him in a way that told him how much I wanted his touch, how keenly I needed to him to complete me as only he could. I moaned quietly against his seeking tongue oblivious to the rustle of actors and stage hands around us. Finally he rested my head against his chest and held me there. Feeling his heartbeat, smelling his clean, masculine scent was like being home.
"I couldn't stay away. I missed you."
"Oh Kason, I missed you too."
He tilted my chin up toward his face. "Your play sucks," he smiled.
"I know it. But the playwright has some talent. He just needs time."
"Newsflash for you. There aren't enough years in a lifetime for this guy to improve."
"But the actors . . ."
"Are just okay. Let's get out of here."
Riding through post theater traffic, we pawed our way back toward his apartment. He'd closed the privacy screen after I'd said a brief hello to Taishi.
"Wait a second." He tapped the button and the black window lowered. "Taishi, you remember that Cuban joint in Hoboken?"
"La Isla?"
"That's the one. That's where we're going." The window silently closed us back into our little world.
"Hoboken? Isn't that pretty far to go for Cuban food?" I asked him.
"I think we can fill the time . . ."
His mouth was on mine in a rough, devouring kiss that left no doubt about what he intended to fill our time with.
Thirty six
My apartment was full of flowers again. I hadn't intended to decorate for Christmas, except what Mr. Clemson and I had done for the shop, but Kason sent over a little three foot tree that was perfect. It was exquisitely decorated with miniature ornaments, satin ribbons and a darling lace skirt and of course, it looked like it had cost a fortune. My mother's tree still boasted craft dough stars and clothespin reindeer my sisters and I contributed over the years. Kason had mentioned how special his mother had made Christmas for him and as I worked the stacks I wondered what I could do to bring some of that magic back for him.
"The stage manager returns tomorrow," I told him the Sunday after our weekend reconciliation.
"Thank God for that. I hope that you intend to give me 'credit' for the nights I didn't get to see you. By my count, you owe me at least four nights."
"I have a favor to ask you."
"Anything for you. You should know that by now. Are you ready for me to replace that awful car of yours?"
"No, I want the key to your apartment."
"Isn't this a rather drastic turnaround? Just a couple weeks ago you were limiting me to a 'few' dates a week."
I laughed. "I'm not moving in. I just want to surprise you with something. Can you trust me with your keys for a day?"
"I suppose so . . . You aren't going to steal the silver are you?"
"No."
"Swipe my Cezanne?"
"No."
"Mangle my Monet?"
"No, I promise I won't touch your treasures."
"Oh please! My treasures adore your touch!"
"You know what I mean."
"Okay, when do you need the keys?"
"Tuesday. I have the day off. You need to stay at the office all day."
"Such mystery."
"I think you'll like what I have planned. Can you drop the keys off at the book store tomorrow? You do know where it is, don't you? Right across from Zabars."
"I know it, but I have to . . . I'll leave them with the doorman. He knows you."
I spent Monday on line and on the telephone. One of the most amazing things about New York is that you can literally get anything you want delivered to your doorstep. It took every penny I had saved from my time at the Bookmark but I managed to pull together a respectable semblance of a traditional Christmas in Kason's apartment.
I had a live tree, of course. The ornaments were all old-fashioned German glass ones with lovely bright colors and lots of sparkle. I remembered his comment about the time his mother wrapped the presents in 'natural' materials and he didn't like the lack of shine. I went all out with shine. Live garlands adorned each window sill and I found some pretty brass lamps that looked like very realistic candlesticks for the windows. I hung two ornate stockings on the mantle and a beautiful wreath on the door. Gingerbread scented candles mingled their sweetness with the crisp piney greens.
I had several boxes—just little things—wrapped up in gold and red that I arranged under the tree. I had fun in the toy store when I discovered the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were back and bigger than ever. It wasn't hard to find a set of genuine TMNT nunchucks and the latest versions of the action figures. I figured I couldn't buy him anything fancy so I went for fun instead.
I locked the door behind me, returned the keys to the doorman and was back at the Bookmark an hour before our closing time of six o'clock. Boyd was talking with his grandfather and a pretty girl I knew must be Phoebe when I arrived.
"This is my Phoebe," Boyd smiled. "The light of my life."
"I am so pleased to meet you, Phoebe. Boyd never stops talking about you." She had a heart-shaped face, big blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. I couldn't help but think she had to stand out in any Spanish crowd.
"Pleased to meet you, too, Annalise. Boyd's been telling me about what you guys are doing for Grandpa Clemson. It's long overdue." She patted the old man on the hand. "You need to join the modern world, Grandpa."
I envied her the familiarity and the easy way she fit herself right into Boyd's life. Even though I hit it off well enough with Bradley Royce, I couldn't imagine ever calling him 'Dad'.
"Let's close up and go have a drink, shall we?" asked Mr. Clemson. "It seems like ages since you've been around to indulge and old man, Phoebe."
We all turned our collars to the cold damp wind that had blown in that afternoon. We hadn't had any snow but Mr. Clemson remarked that it looked like a 'snowy sky'. I always hoped for a white Christmas. It added to the magic of the season. I took out my phone and checked the time. It wasn't even five thirty yet and Kason probably wouldn't get home for another hour or more. I was impatient to know his reaction. I thought he'd be pleased, but there was a tiny niggling fear that perhaps I had somehow overstepped the limits. There had been so few opportunities for me to do anything for Kason, it was always the other way around. Maybe he wouldn't like the sentimental gesture. Oh well, too late.
We swept into Kilburn's propelled by the force of a sudden icy gust against our backs. It was half full but we found a nice warm booth toward the back, away from chilly blasts from the door. Mr. Clemson and I sat on one side and Boyd and Phoebe snuggled tight together on the other.
"So, what were you up to today?" Boyd asked me.
"I was planning a Christmas surprise for a friend."
"I went shopping," Phoebe put in. "Spain is wonderful, but there's nothing that can compare to Fifth Avenue at Christmas time. I'm so glad to be back. I've missed everyone so much."
"And we've missed you, my dear," Mr. Clemson smiled.
"I can't wait to see the rest of the family too. Boyd, what's your hunk of a cousin up to lately?"
"Making money hand over fist, I'd guess. We haven't seen much of him lat
ely," Boyd answered as he tipped back his drink.
"You know he always disappears at the end of the year. It's a very busy time for him. We haven’t seen him at the Bookmark for . . . I don't know probably since before Annalise started working there."
"You'd think," added Boyd, "that he'd stop to see you once in a while, Gramps. He lives right in the neighborhood."
I was suddenly listening to the banter a little harder and took a big gulp of my wine.
"He's a strange young man. He was terribly interested in the shop after he returned from the Hills in September. But then he disappeared. I've had a hard time understanding him most of his life." Mr. Clemson shook his head.
"We had great times as kids. But after Aunt Maryann passed away, he and Uncle Brad hardly ever came to the East anymore."
"He takes after his father. It's very rare that I see any of my daughter's soft edges in our Kason." He paused before asking Boyd, "Didn't he suggest you give me a hand upgrading our system and developing a website?"
"Sure, but it was long overdue."
Gulp. Kason. Gulp. He had never once come into the shop when it was open and had spent only a few fleeting moments in my little apartment since I moved there. He'd listened to me talk about the job, about Boyd, his cousin and dear Mr. Clemson, his grandfather. And he had never said a word.
I was swimming in a flood of conflicting emotions. It was clear to me that Kason had deceived me. He had engineered the job and then he continued the deception by pretending he knew nothing about the Bookmark or the people in it. I was feeling a slow, angry burn inside but I was determined to stay in control and not over react. When my phone rang and I saw that it was Kason, I let it go to voicemail, muted the ringer and stuffed the damn thing into my purse.
It was manipulative and controlling. It was typically Kason. And, even worse was the fact that he had used my father as a front for his little scheme. We had already stopped seeing one another when my father came forward with the 'friend of a friend' story. I had a fleeting moment of suspicion when I realized how close the bookshop was to the Dakota and another one when Mr. Clemson had told me about his grandson. But the job seemed perfect so I had pushed my doubts to the back of my mind. When I finally met Boyd Clemson, I was able to relax. The grandson behind the push for the new system was plausible.
Almost Always: A Love Unexpected Novel Page 21
