by Susan Sey
“I like the job I have, Mom.”
“You’re giving fat diplomats new hearts and stitching up drug dealers in your off hours.” She looked thoughtful. “No wonder you don’t date.”
Erik rubbed his eyes. “I date, Mom.”
“Not successfully. If you did, I’d have grandchildren right now.”
“You don’t want me to have kids. You want me to have a First Lady.”
“Ideally, you could have both. Children can be a political asset.”
“Sure, but at what cost?”
She leveled a look at him and said, “Is that a dig?”
He gazed at her in silence. She sighed and said, “I’m just trying to help you, Erik.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “You are something special, you know. And I’m not speaking as your mother now. You have a world-class brain, a stellar education, and a social conscience a mile wide. One day your ambition’s going to kick in, and I don’t want to see you chained to an inappropriate family situation when it does.”
Old bitterness washed over him like sour coffee. “Is that how you thought of us? Of me and Dad? Your inappropriate family situation?”
She let go of his hand, ran a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “Do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to be your mom?”
“Honest.”
“I loved your father, Erik. He’s been gone over ten years and I still do. But we were never made to live together. We wanted different things from life.” She gave him a crooked smile. “The only thing we ever agreed on is you.”
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get, young man.”
“Right. Fine.” Erik sat back, blew out the bitterness with his pent up breath. “Just quit catapulting women at me, Mom. And for that matter, quit letting Nixie Leighton-Brace into my apartment. She nearly gave me a heart attack.”
The Senator’s smile went sly. “Did she now?”
“God, Mom. Not like that.”
“Hmmm.” She went back to her sticky bun. “But you’re not gay?”
“Not gay.”
“Okay. Sorry. She was just so lost and lonely.”
“Lost and lonely?” Erik snorted. “Aside from maybe her mother, she’s the most recognizable humanitarian on the planet. I don’t think she’s lonely.”
“Famous and lonely go hand in hand, dear. Try to listen a little, hmmm?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that. I love you more than anything, darling boy, but sometimes, you’re all send and no receive.”
Erik frowned. He thought of Nixie’s bright, cheerful effort to feed him eggplant and his casual rejection. She was so...easy and flip. She was the most approachable woman he’d ever met, for all that she was ridiculously rich and famous. Naïve and kind and warm and smart-mouthed. How could she be lonely?
“Just try not to leave any more women in my kitchen, okay?” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Okay, okay.” She tapped a polished nail on the Post and sipped her coffee. “What are you going to do?” she asked as he headed for the door.
“About what?”
“Nixie.”
“I already gave her a job.”
“She needs a friend.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Of course.”
Erik let himself out of his mother’s apartment and stood breathing the fresh air for a moment. He always wondered what was in that perfume of hers. He couldn’t think straight when it got into his brain. He looked at Nixie’s door and shook his head.
Lonely. Ha. His mother must think he was a fool. How lonely could the country’s favorite do-gooder be?
He strode toward the elevator, but stopped halfway there. He sighed, called himself six kinds of idiot, then turned around and walked back to Nixie’s door. He gave a few quick raps.
She answered the door wearing clean jeans and a simple white shirt, her feet bare, her hair wet. The scent of lemons wafted out into the hallway.
“No eggplant,” she said. “I mean it.”
“Me, too. Nobody should eat that crap. Come on. I’m taking you out to lunch.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
She spotted the diner half a block away.
“Is that where we’re going?” she asked Erik.
“Yep.”
Nixie’s eyes watered, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the wind blasting down the street or all that neon lighting in one place. They reached the plate glass door, and Erik yanked it open. With one hand at the small of her back, he thrust her into a world she’d only ever read about.
It was a shoebox of a place, longer than it was wide, with black and white tiled floors. Everything that wasn’t tiled was either stainless steel or covered with neon lights. Vats of smoking hot oil filled the air with the promise of artery-clogging goodness, and Nixie stood just inside the door, gaping at it all.
She allowed Erik to peel off her scarf and coat and hang them next to his own on a coat rack as a tiny train raced around a track near the hammered tin ceiling. A juke box--the old fashioned kind that played honest-to-goodness vinyl records--squatted in the corner, resplendent with zipping lights. She started toward it automatically. She wanted to play some Patsy Cline. This place demanded Patsy Cline, but Erik took her elbow.
“Couple counter seats just opened up,” he said, then muscled his way through a sea of coats and purses and elbows, towing Nixie behind him. He deposited her on an industrial strength stool. It was bolted to the floor and shiny from the countless behinds that had surely been plunked on it over the years. She was delighted to find that it spun beneath her like it had been greased. Judging from the amount of oil hanging in the air, it probably had. She laughed and grabbed the counter for balance as she slowed. Erik shook his head, but he looked more amused than irritated.
“This place is great!” Nixie beamed at him. “How did you find it?”
Erik handed her a crumpled paper menu. “Steve-O’s has been around since time immemorial. It’s a DC institution.”
Nixie laid the menu open on the counter in front of her. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Erik smiled at the waitress who’d appeared in front of them. She was at least sixty, with a Jackie O flip dyed ruthlessly black and shellacked into place. She wore a pink uniform, white sneakers, a cardigan and frosted orange lipstick. Nixie couldn’t have loved her more if she’d been popping a big wad of chewing gum.
“What can I get you two?” she asked, pen to a little spiral bound tablet.
“Coffee,” Erik said.
“Two?”
“Um, no.” Nixie looked at her menu. “Do you have herbal tea?”
The waitress looked blankly at her, then at Erik.
“Two coffees,” he said. “Make hers a decaf.”
“Right.” She gave Nixie a suspicious look, then thumped their white mugs right side up on the stainless steel counter. She seized two coffee pots from the burner behind her and filled the mugs. “Y’all eating today?”
“You bet,” Erik said. “I’ll have the American burger with fries.”
“How you want that done, honey?”
“Rare. Lettuce and tomato.”
She nodded her approval, then turned to Nixie.
“Oh, gosh.” Nixie looked at the menu still laid out on the counter.
“No eggplant,” Erik said. “I mean it.”
“Um, okay. But...” She gave the waitress tentative smile. “What can you recommend for a vegetarian?”
The waitress’ penciled on brows came together. “We have chicken salad,” she said doubtfully.
“Oh.” Nixie bit her lip and went back to scanning the menu. Now she’d disappointed the waitress. She sighed and soldiered on. “I was looking for something without meat.”
“Chicken’s not meat, hon.”
“Right. Well, I’m more looking for something that never had a face. I try not to eat anything that once had a face.”
T
he waitress’ doubt faded into irritation. “We got fries. But hey, potatoes have eyes. Is that going to be a problem?”
“She’ll have the American burger, too,” Erik said quickly. “Well done, lettuce and tomato, with fries. And hey, give the lady a chocolate shake, too.”
Nixie frowned at him. “I don’t eat--”
“--enough. No, you certainly don’t.” Erik gave her knee a warning squeeze and smiled pleasantly at the waitress. “She’s too skinny.”
The waitress smiled back at Erik, clearly pleased to be working with somebody who knew how to order. She scribbled on her pad, then turned to the stainless steel partition at her back, behind which bobbed a sea of paper-capped line cooks. She bellowed, “Burn two, one hockey puck, one on the hoof, and walk ‘em through the garden! Frog sticks and one cow, muddy!”
Nixie found the American burger on the menu. “No mayo on mine, please.”
“High and dry on the hockey puck!” She gave Nixie one last look that said I’ll be watching you, missy and swished away to take care of more deserving customers. Nixie turned on Erik.
“I’m not eating cow.”
He smiled at her, and it was a smug little grin that said I should have known. “So, you’re a vegetarian?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Eating meat is incredibly wasteful. It takes something like fifty times more natural resources to raise cattle rather than crops. Given the rate our rainforests are disappearing and our aquifers are drying out, eating meat borders on immoral. Plus it’s bad for you. Aren’t you a heart surgeon? Don’t you know this?”
“I know the facts, Nixie. I asked why you’re a vegetarian. Tell me the story.”
She frowned at him. “I just did.”
“No, you spouted a party line. I was asking for your a-ha moment, the one where you suddenly looked at the hamburger in you hands and beheld evil instead of a tasty treat.”
“Oh.” Nixie picked up her coffee and took a tiny, scalding sip. It was slippery and burnt. “I don’t have one. I’ve always been a vegetarian.”
“What? Like your whole life?”
She plunked down her cup. “It’s not a birth defect, Erik.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You sure made it sound that way.”
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “It’s just sad.”
“Sad?” Nixie swiveled her stool to face him, poked a finger into his chest. “You think it’s sad that I was parented by long-sighted and compassionate people who taught me to be gentle on the planet? Do you have any idea how many of my peers are blowing their trust funds on oxycontin addictions and starring in their own reality shows? Turning out vegetarian isn’t so bad.”
“No, of course not. It’s just...”
“It’s just what?”
“It’s just that you never chose it yourself. You inherited it.”
“So what? If it fits, what’s the problem?”
“You don’t know if it fits. You’ve never tried anything else. I mean, here you are, finally making a break for it. Against the advice of everybody who knows and loves you, you’ve planted yourself in a random city, and are knocking yourself out trying to make your own way in spite of tripping over your face and name at every turn. You’re doing desk duty at a free clinic in the worst neighborhood in the city, and you’re actually liking it. Surprise, surprise. You’re finding yourself, Nixie, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m impressed. You’ve got guts.”
She was prepared for the coffee this time, and managed to take a sip without grimacing. She wanted something warm in her stomach to blame the little glow on. He thought she had guts. “But? I’m sensing a but.”
He lifted those big shoulders and said, “But you’re still clinging to the old habits. If you’re shooting for a revolution, don’t skimp. You’ve never tasted red meat in your life. You have no idea if you like it or not.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like it,” Nixie said. “I might like crack cocaine, too. I’ve heard it’s a trip. But I’m not going to indulge in that.”
“I don’t think a burger at Steve-O’s rings the sin bell quite like crack, Nixie.”
The waitress stumped back and slid two enormous platters in front of them. “There you go, kids.” She gave Nixie a hard look. “You treat that with the respect it deserves, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Nixie spoke automatically. Her plate was the size of a hub cap. She stared in awe at a mountain of steaming fries nestled in the lee of a burger split in half and wrapped in waxed paper. Nixie swallowed. It hardly captured the moment to call this thing a burger. A juicy slab of beef reclined on a crusty sourdough roll, coyly covering itself with half a head of lettuce and a thick slice of tomato. Nixie could smell it, hot and greasy, slathered in ketchup, the mustard so yellow her taste buds were already singing in anticipation. It had to be six inches tall.
“Nixie? You all right?”
She didn’t look away from the burger. “It’s got to be a sin.”
His chuckle rolled over her like the tide, inexorable and reassuring. “Maybe. But it’s a small one.”
“There is nothing small about this...thing.”
“Hamburger. That thing is a hamburger. And a hamburger from Steve-Os on a crappy March day is one of the very best reasons to live in DC.” Erik nudged her. “Go on. Try it.”
Nixie frowned. “How? It’s as big as my head.”
“Watch and learn, grasshopper.” He scooped up half of his burger, squeezed it until condiments squirted onto the plate and wedged a corner into his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed with utter bliss. Nixie took a moment to envy anything that could put a look like that on the practical doctor’s face. Then she turned her attention back to her own burger.
She hefted one half of it and peeled back the waxed paper, then looked at Erik. “I’m not doing this to prove anything to you,” she said.
“Of course not.” He looked solemn.
“You just happen to have a valid point. My rejection of meat will be even more meaningful once I’ve tasted it and made a more informed decision.”
“Right.”
“Because then I’ll know exactly what I’m saying no to.”
“Yep.”
She addressed the burger. “I’m sorry, buddy.”
“Quit stalling, princess.”
“It’s just...I feel so guilty.”
“I don’t want to hear about the less fortunate, Nixie. Starving yourself doesn’t help them. You’re the richest woman I know and you look like one of those orphans you’re always getting your picture taken with. Just this once, why don’t you indulge yourself?”
“Indulge myself?”
“Yeah. It’s okay, Nixie. The earth won’t spin off its axis if you eat red meat.”
She rolled her eyes at him, then turned back to the burger with renewed determination. She squeezed the bun until ketchup and mustard plopped onto the plate and took a bite. The flavors hit Nixie’s defenseless system like an atom bomb and she closed her eyes to moan. She chewed slowly, to savor every last taste and texture before she swallowed.
“It is like taking drugs,” she finally said, when she found her voice. “People tell you how wrong it is, how bad they are, and it makes you wonder why anybody would do them. Then you try them and realize they left out the part about how frickin’ awesome they are.”
She opened her eyes to find Erik staring at her, his blue eyes hot with something she didn’t recognize. “Not that I’ve ever done drugs or anything. I haven’t. I was just...What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have it all over me?” She reached for a napkin and wiped her mouth. “Sorry. I’ve never done this before.”
“No, you’re fine.” He looked away from her, his face closed and cool again. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. The easiness between them had vanished, and Nixie was suddenly awkward and self-conscious. She set down the burger.
&
nbsp; “I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I?”
“What? Nixie, no.”
“Of course I did.” She pushed her plate away. “I disappointed myself. I just violated a principle I’ve held for twenty-eight years, and why? Because you baited me.” She shook her head. “What were the chances I’d be corrupted into eating red meat by a heart surgeon?”
“Okay, now you’re just being stupid.”
“I beg your pardon?” She perched stiffly on the stool that had given her such pleasure a few minutes ago. “I am many things, but stupid is not one of them.”
“Okay, you’re not stupid,” Erik said. He turned to face her, leaned forward until she had no choice but to look at him. “But it pisses me off to watch you sit there, skinny as a rake, wearing second-hand clothes, berating yourself over a bite of burger. You’re so generous to other people. Why can’t you be that kind to yourself every once in a while?”
She felt the beginnings of a smile tug at her mouth. “So it wasn’t a test of my strength and willpower? I didn’t fail?”
He stared at her. “Do people do that to you? Test you?”
She shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Every journalist in the world wants to be the one to report that Nixie Leighton-Brace is a big phony. Or so I’ve been told.”
Erik pulled her plate back toward her. “Eat the damn burger. All of it.” The waitress came back and plunked a tall silver canister, an empty glass and a long handled spoon at Nixie’s elbow. “And here’s your shake. I want that gone, too.”
“Now I know that’s a sin.”
“No point in a half-assed revolution.”
She tipped her head and looked at him. “Why are you doing this, Erik? What does it matter to you what I eat or don’t eat?”
“No reason,” he said. “Sometimes I do things just because they’re fun.”
“And feeding me is fun for you?”
“I can’t explain it.” He smiled at her, and there was something in it that had her mouth going dry. “It doesn’t mean anything. It just feels nice. Isn’t that reason enough to do something?”
“Um, no. Usually not.”
“And that’s why you’re twenty-eight years old and having your first burger.”
“Right.” Nixie turned back to her food. She stuffed a fry in her mouth and concentrated on chewing, because she had the most inexplicable urge to crawl right up into his lap and curl there like a kitten. Just because it would feel nice and not have to mean anything.
