by Nic Tatano
***
After a Monday dealing with trolls and Celine Dion songs, I wanted a treat, so I hit the Italian deli down the street from my apartment. I walked down the block with a big brown bag of goodies which included my dinner for the evening, a foot-long meatball sub. The smell was driving me crazy so I picked up my pace. I wanted to tear into the thing the minute I got through the door, but I had to remember to drop the blinds lest anyone see me devour it like a yeti. I stuck my nose into the bag and took a big whiff of it and the giant hunk of imported provolone that sat next to it and atop all sorts of delicacies, which included a slice of tiramisu for dessert.
And when I looked up, the smell disappeared and turned to sewage.
He was heading right toward me.
“Oh, you gotta be friggin’ kidding me,” I said to myself. “Not again.”
Vincent was walking in my direction, holding a bag of groceries while eating an apple. He looked up, saw me, slowed to a stop a few feet in front of me, and stopped chewing.
“Are you stalking me?” I asked.
He swallowed. “Yeah. I always prey on innocent women with a sack full of produce. Mangoes lure ‘em in like you wouldn’t believe. Want one?”
I stood up straight and glared at him, my arms wrapped around my bag. “Then please explain why you’re here.”
“Uhhh … let me think. Oh, yeah. I live here.”
“You live on my block?”
“No, I live on Staten Island but I shop here. It’s a nice walk. And I wasn’t aware this was your block.”
I stood there with my mouth hanging open. This couldn’t be happening. “So we’re neighbors?”
“I’m two blocks over. I get my produce at Vinnie’s and then I hit the deli on the way back.” He stuck his nose in the air in the direction of my grocery bag. “Smells like you’ve already been there.”
“Yeah.”
He glanced into my bag. I leaned back. “Hmmm. Foot-long sub. You gonna eat all that yourself?”
“You implying I’m fat?”
“No way. You look great.”
“Maybe I’m saving half for tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh. Right. Those things don’t re-heat well. So, where do you live?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“So I can avoid your building, which I would assume you’d appreciate.”
I cocked my head toward my apartment building a few feet away. “Right there. And there’s a doorman to prevent any ne’er-do-wells from getting in.”
“Ne’er-do-wells?”
“Look it up.”
“I know what it means.” He started walking past me. “Have a good night, Cupcake.”
I whipped my head around. “You haven’t earned the right to call me that!”
He put up one hand in a half-hearted wave and moved on. Then, just when I thought I was done with him, just when I turned and headed to my building, he struck again. “You know, you’re beautiful when you’re angry!”
I was so pissed off I turned around and glared at him, and of course he was wearing that shit-eating grin again. I put the bag down, yanked the meatball sub out of it, ripped open the paper covering the top, and took as big a bite as possible.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Here he comes!” I sat up straight and smiled as Scott spotted me from the door.
“Down, girl,” said Serena.
“Mmmmm. Very cute,” said Ariel.
Roxanne looked at him skeptically with narrowed eyes. “We’ll see.”
Scott was wearing dark slacks, brown tasseled loafers, and a royal-blue polo shirt. He had a tan windbreaker slung over his shoulder as he made his way through the bar, looking like an ad for casual menswear. He smiled as he arrived at our table. “Hi guys.”
“You’re right on time,” I said, shooting a look at Roxanne, who seemed determined to use one of her peremptory strikes for any flag that’s even in the palest shade of red. I took care of the introductions as he sat down. A waitress spotted the new arrival and quickly visited our table. Scott ordered a beer and asked if the rest of us needed anything. We were already sufficiently lubricated, though I was so nervous I could have used an alcohol IV.
“So,” Roxanne said, “how long you been a Mets fan?”
“Since I was a kid.”
“Really,” said Roxanne, and I could tell she was ready with more gotcha questions than a biased political reporter. “Be nice if they got back in the World Series again.”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile,” said Scott. “Haven’t been there since two thousand.”
“Yeah, but that was a great subway series.”
He furrowed his brow. “You kidding? They lost, four games to one. Bad enough to lose the series, but to the Yankees? That was hard to take.”
I tilted my head back and stuck my nose in the air, then shot Roxanne a quick so-there smile.
The small talk flowed smoothly for the next forty-five minutes, and I was getting more relaxed as I hadn’t seen any red flags run up the pole, though Roxanne had certainly greased the damn thing.
Scott took a quick look at his watch. “Well, we’d better get going.”
“Yeah, the subway will be packed,” said Roxanne, even though it wouldn’t be since the Mets don’t draw many fans. She was fishing again.
“I arranged for a car,” said Scott, who pointed toward the window. I spotted a black Town Car with a driver in a suit and tie standing by the fender.
“That’s so thoughtful,” I said, then gave Roxanne another so-there look.
“Not wild about the subway for a night game,” said Scott. “There are a few dicey stops on the number seven line.”
“Well, have a good time,” said Ariel.
“Hope the Mets win,” said Serena.
“Not a sure thing these days,” said Scott, who got up from his chair. “So, you guys got anything interesting planned for the rest of the evening?”
“Yeah,” said Roxanne, who looked at the other two. “And we need to get going if we’re gonna meet Will and Vincent.”
Great. Hung jury.
***
We headed out of Citi Field after a rare Mets win and the temperature had suddenly taken a dive. I’d forgotten to bring a jacket and wrapped my arms around my waist as the chilly air filled my lungs. Scott noticed, took off his windbreaker and draped it over my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said, as we headed for the car.
“Little brisk for June.”
“Well, I’m cold-natured. I can get goose bumps in July.”
Scott tossed the foul ball he caught into the air and caught it as we walked. He didn’t really catch it during the game, but our seats behind the visiting dugout were so sparsely populated he managed to grab a ball that landed three rows down.
We reached the Town Car and the driver opened the door for us. It was running and I was hoping the heat was on.
“Nice way to travel to a game,” I said, as I got in and discovered it was warm and toasty inside.
“I use this company a lot. Not as expensive as you might think,” he said, sliding in next to me. The driver closed the door and Scott handed me the ball. “Here, souvenir of the evening.”
“No, that’s yours. You caught it.”
“I didn’t catch it. It wasn’t even moving when I picked it up. Besides, I got a foul ball about five years ago and one’s enough. That one I actually caught.”
“Well, thanks. I’ve never gotten one.” I turned the ball over in my hand, a perfect sphere except for a small dent where it was hit. The leather was smooth, the red laces rough and the feel took me back. I adjusted it so that it was between my thumb and first two fingers, which were across the laces.
“You got a decent curve ball?”
“Nah, just brings back memories of playing with my brothers. But I don’t throw like a girl.”
“It would be okay if you did.”
We cruised out of the parking lot easily, the thin crowd not making for much of a bottleneck.
The ride back to Manhattan was quicker than normal, with little traffic on a Saturday night. The conversation continued to be relaxed and easy, as it had been all night. He was sitting close to me, near enough for me to get a whiff of his light cologne. The driver pulled up to our building. Scott reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to him. “Thanks, Bill. I can get the door.”
“Thank you, Mr Shepard. See you soon.”
So now, after what had been a terrific evening, I felt my heart hit a speed bump as I considered what was going to happen next. The questions flew through my mind much too fast as I got out of the car.
He’s sending the driver away. How’s he getting home? Does that mean he thinks I’m going to invite him in and he’s sleeping here?
My friends have told me to limit him to one goodnight kiss with no invitation inside to my apartment. Do I blow off the advice since my gut is telling me he’s okay? (And I really want to jump his bones.)
If I don’t invite him in, will he get turned off and not ask me out again? (And I really want him to ask me out again.)
And what was the deal with Roxanne’s comment about meeting Will AND Vincent? Serena and Ariel didn’t say anything, so did that mean they agreed he could go either way?
Scott lightly took my arm as we walked about fifty feet past the fountain with the colored lights to the front of my building.
I had no friggin’ idea what to do and said nothing.
Thankfully, he broke the silence as we reached the door. “I had a great time, Belinda.”
I turned to face him. “Me too. I … uh … ”
Before I could say anything he moved closer, gently took my chin, tilted it up while slipping his other hand around my waist, pulled me close and gave me the best, longest kiss I’ve ever had. I dropped the baseball, heard it bounce.
I hate to be cliché but I grew weak in the knees as he leaned back a bit, his hand sliding from my back to my side. “Whoa,” I said softly.
He smiled. “My feelings exactly. I take it we can go out again?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, without any hesitation.
Big smile from him. He picked up the ball and handed it to me. “Okay, slugger. See you in the morning.”
“Huh?” Was this his way of inviting himself inside?
“At the shelter,” he said.
“Oh, I forgot. Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“Well, see you then. Good night.” He leaned over, kissed me lightly on the cheek and walked back toward the street where he stuck out his arm and hailed a cab.
I turned and slowly entered the building, still in somewhat of a trance from the kiss. Trying to figure out if he sent the car away because he thought I would invite him in. That made the most sense, but then again, if he had the driver stand by it would tell me he didn’t want to come in … aw, hell, it was too much to think about as I headed across the black and white marble floor to the elevator.
“So, details,” came a familiar Brooklyn accent from behind me.
I looked over and saw Roxanne, Serena and Ariel sitting on the couch at the far end of the spacious lobby. “You guys are waiting up for me?”
“Well … yeah,” said Ariel.
“What’re you, my parents? Have you been here all night?”
“No,” said Serena. “We kept an eye on the game and then figured it would take you at least a half hour to get here. We got here about ten minutes ago.”
“So,” said Roxanne, “enjoy the tonsillectomy?”
“You saw that?”
“There’s a great view of the front door from this couch,” said Ariel. “We were just taking in the pretty fountain and you happened to walk into our line of sight.”
I rolled my eyes as I began to squeeze the life out of the baseball. “What a steaming pile of horseshit! You guys are spying on me!”
“We prefer to call it preventive surveillance,” Serena said.
“You guys don’t trust me!”
“Not after seeing those puppy dog eyes when Scott walked into the bar, we don’t,” said Ariel.
“So what would you guys have done had I broken your rule and invited him in? Tackled him in the lobby?”
“Honestly,” said Roxanne, “the way you were looking at him you wouldn’t have even noticed us.”
“Meanwhile,” said Serena, as she whipped a legal pad out of her purse. “Details.”
I folded my arms, still holding the baseball. “The Mets won, five to two. Helluva game.”
“Be serious,” said Ariel.
“Fine,” I said, taking a seat on the end of the tan leather couch. “He was a perfect gentleman. Never laid a hand on me until we pulled up here.”
“So,” said Serena, “during your three hours at said baseball game, did the defendant—”
“The defendant?” I asked.
“Sorry, but that will have to suffice for lack of a better term. He is basically on trial,” said Serena. “Continuing with my previous line of questioning. Is it therefore your contention that he is sincerely a gentleman or simply playing the part?”
“Well, during the seventh inning stretch we sneaked into the upper deck since it was empty and had sex behind the foul pole. Other than that he didn’t touch me.”
“You think this is funny,” said Roxanne.
“No, I think you’re all being ridiculous,” I said. “Look, we enjoyed the game, we talked baseball, he asked me a lot about my job and the stories I’m working on. He seemed genuinely interested and even offered to help me with one that involves financial stuff. He drank one beer all night and took me to one of the clubs to get something to eat.” I held up the baseball. “He got a foul ball and gave it to me. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” said Ariel. “Did he ask you out again?”
I nodded. “He did but didn’t specify any particular date or activity. Besides, we can talk about it more tomorrow morning at the shelter.”
Roxanne exhaled and her face dropped into a frown. “You really like this guy, don’t you?” She sounded resigned to the inevitable.
“I do. It was the best first date I’ve ever had. We seem to be on the same page.”
“Very well,” said Serena, clicking her pen and putting it back in her purse. She looked at Ariel and Roxanne. “After considering the events as related to us and combining that with our cocktail hour impressions, I believe she can move forward with this potential relationship.”
“I agree,” said Ariel.
Roxanne looked right at me. “As long as you’re careful.”
“I’m a big girl,” I said.
“Yeah, we’ve heard that before,” said Roxanne.
“Meanwhile,” said Ariel, “we’ll re-visit the catch and release program this coming weekend.”
I furrowed my brow. “But I’ve already found someone nice to date.”
“You need to play the field until you’ve mastered your new skills,” said Serena. “Just because you had one good first date doesn’t mean you’re … fixed.”
“You don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket,” said Roxanne, suddenly perked up. “Besides, Scott may be playing the field right now as well.”
And that comment sucked the energy out of me. It was something I hadn’t considered, didn’t want to consider, but her point was valid. His “stupid” question at lunch about me being attached would have been just as valid coming from me. I mean, the guy’s beyond cute, obviously well off and polite. He wouldn’t have trouble finding a date. “Okay, I’ll buy that. By the way, what was the deal with the codes tonight? Meeting Will and Vincent?”
“Ariel and I thought he had potential,” said Serena. “But you know Rox has that built-in bullshit detector.”
I turned to Roxanne. “So you sensed something bad?”
She shrugged, her look turned serious. “I dunno. He seemed a little too perfect.”
“I think you’re biased,” I said. “Can you at least give him the benefit of the doubt for a while?”
“He’s on a short leash,” she said. “But if he hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Seeing the zip drive on my desk Wednesday morning got me off to a great start. And when I read the note under it, I knew nothing could ruin my day.
Belinda,
I took a look at the documents and honestly don’t have the expertise to decipher all this. You need someone who is a financial advisor, or someone who knows the inner workings of managing funds.
Sorry I couldn’t be of any help.
-Glenda
You’re probably wondering why I was thrilled about Inhuman Resources hitting a dead end on the Councilman Jagger story. Two reasons. First, I wouldn’t have to deal with the troll again, and second, I kinda sorta know a guy in the financial world who will be taking me out this Friday. Actually, three reasons. I actually had something in writing with Glenda saying she’s sorry about something, which will go into my scrapbook of amazing shit I’ve run into in the news business. Frankly I was surprised she couldn’t find anything, but hey, I’ve got plenty of other stories in the hopper, and the thought of working together on a story with Scott sounds intriguing.
Meanwhile, Harry asked me to drop by after the morning meeting. I could tell he still isn’t used to the new me, but I made it a point to turn some kick-ass stories in the last week, so I was still one of the guys even if I was wearing the dreaded skirt.
I tapped on his open office door and he looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. “You summoned me, noble one?”
“C’mon in, Cupcake.” He was smiling, so I knew this wasn’t anything bad. “You’re certainly on a roll the last few days. Really great work.”
Now Harry already said that in the morning meeting, so I knew something else was coming. He always says something good when something bad is about to follow. It’s his one-man version of good cop, bad cop. “Thanks, Harry. So … what’s up?” I slid onto the chair opposite his desk.
He shook his head as he picked up a stack of large yellow cards, which I knew to be requests from the promotions department. “I hope these won’t take time away from your primary duties.”
