‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Nothing. So what brings you on this bus today?’
He smiled. ‘How very polite of you to ask. My workplace is one block north of here – the art collective? I finished early because the exhibition starts tomorrow. I hope you and your cousin will visit? It runs till Saturday evening.’
‘I think we’re aiming to see it on Thursday night,’ I replied, loving the reaction this elicited from him.
‘Great.’ He stared ahead for a moment, his smile straining a little as he considered what to say next.
I hid my smile and looked out of the window to take the pressure off him. Maybe I should speak first?
‘So—’ we both started together.
I laughed and motioned for him to go ahead. ‘I’m sorry. After you.’
‘OK, I’m just going to say it.’ He turned to face me. ‘We keep meeting. And I like that we do. So how about … is it possible you might like to have dinner with me? Or a cup of coffee? Or …?’
My smile could be restrained no longer. ‘Or a journey on a Muni bus?’
He laughed, a delightful vulnerability chiming within it. ‘Or even that. The thing is, I think it could be fun.’
Had this happened even a month ago I might have felt cornered and shied away from making a decision, but here on the bumpy Number 43 trolleybus ascending Masonic Avenue I found that I didn’t need time to consider my answer.
‘Yes. I’d love to.’
‘Wonderful.’ Max Rossi’s smile made my toes tingle.
I smiled back and San Francisco smiled with us.
After a few seconds, the merest indication of confusion passed across his face. ‘Just to clarify, which of the options did you just agree to?’
How sweet was that?
‘Well, we’re already doing the Muni thing successfully, I’m happy to do coffee as long as it’s decaf and I wouldn’t say no to dinner either.’
‘I see. That’s good. How about coffee at Java’s Crypt after your shift tomorrow?’
‘Perfect.’
‘It’s a date.’
Satisfied, we sat back in our seats and watched the city pass by in amiable silence. I was thrilled, not only by Max’s suggestion but also by my own spontaneity. I knew nothing about him – other than the sketchy details he’d already shared – but I was looking forward to finding out more. How far I’d come in three weeks: from suddenly redundant Assistant Planning Officer to international traveller, San Franciscan diner intern and now soon-to-be dater of a handsome local.
Nice work, Nell Sullivan …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It’s only coffee …
‘Aaaaaaarrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!’
Lizzie’s scream made my eardrums ring and before I could protest I was being waltzed at high speed around her living room.
‘It’s just coffee …’
‘It’s a date! You have your first date in San Francisco! I’m so happy for you, Nellie!’
I wasn’t aware that securing my first date here was some kind of rite of passage, but from my cousin’s reaction anyone would think I’d just reached a significant milestone in my San Franciscan experience. ‘I’m happy that you’re happy but can we stop dancing now please? You’re making me dizzy.’
Laughing too loudly at her own reaction, my cousin let go of me and collapsed on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry, hun. You know you could be dizzy from love for this wonderful man who is taking you for coffee …’ She clasped a hand to her heart and descended into another bout of giggles.
I stared at her. ‘No, it’s definitely the dancing. You really need to get out more, Liz. Or finally admit you’re not just seeing Tyler.’
Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Don’t you turn this on me. This is your moment of glory.’
‘It’s just a coffee.’
‘But he said it was a date.’
‘Yes, as in “a date in the diary” not “a date with destiny”.’
‘But you’re excited about it?’
‘Of course I am. But I’m also realistic. I don’t want to plan this. I just want to enjoy coffee with Max tomorrow and see where it goes. He said he wants to spend some time with me and I said I’d like that.’
‘But think where it might lead …’
‘Lizzie, seriously, let’s stop this. I don’t want to live out an entire relationship before I’ve even been on one date. However excited my barmy cousin might be.’
Lizzie held up her hands in surrender. ‘Consider the subject moot. I’m going to jump in the shower and then how do you fancy Mongolian barbecue tonight? There’s a great place near Telegraph Hill you’ll love. And we’ll talk about everything but Max Rossi.’
Seeing how happy Lizzie was I suspected that she couldn’t avoid the subject of Max all night, but Mongolian food sounded intriguing and I was hungry, so I was willing to take the risk. ‘Sounds great.’
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: I have a date
… but it’s just for coffee.
I’m telling you this purely in the interests of your ongoing entertainment and not because I’m declaring any kind of potential relationship status. Max asked me to have coffee with him tomorrow after work and I agreed. That is all.
Lizzie is doing her best not to marry us off and have us riding into the sunset in a Disney-style finale. Meanwhile, I’m quietly chuffed about it.
So now you know.
Big love
Nell xxx
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: I have a date
… BUT it’s a date with a hot Johnny Depp lookalike!! This is progress!
Good work Sullivan. SNOG HIM. And report back.
So proud!
Vix xxx
p.s. Please let him have a brother who looks like RG. Please.
Annie’s was as busy as ever and I was glad of the distraction. Despite my fervent protests about not wanting to think too much about Max, fluttering nerves had commenced their siege to my insides since nine a.m., just as the breakfast rush began. I focused as hard as I could on clearing tables, seating customers, refilling coffee and taking orders. I made polite conversation, bantered with the regulars and had a bit of a giggle with the Alfaros.
‘My wife says I need a haircut,’ Mr Alfaro informed me as I handed them their breakfast waffles. He lifted his plaid trilby and pointed at the thin covering of hair over his balding head. ‘Is she serious? At my age I want to hang on to what hair I still have.’
‘You can afford to lose a quarter inch, Saul,’ Mrs Alfaro countered. ‘Don’t you agree, Nell?’
Not wanting to offend either of them, I kept to safer ground. ‘Haircuts can be tricky things to judge. It’s all about personal choice, I think.’
Mrs Alfaro clapped her hands. ‘Exactly! You see? Nell agrees with me.’
Saul Alfaro raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘How was what she just said agreeing with you? She said it’s personal choice.’
‘And what if it’s my personal choice for you to have a haircut, hmm?’
Blinking in disbelief, Saul turned to me. ‘This is what I’ve endured for years, Nell. Promise me when you get a husband you’ll allow him power of attorney over his own hair at least?’
I chuckled. ‘If I ever have a husband, I promise I’ll let him decide.’
‘It won’t be an “if” but a “when”, young lady,’ Mrs Alfaro replied. ‘And when it happens, you’ll see why it’s important to keep an eye on his grooming habits. Talking of which, be sure to remember us to Max Rossi – if you happen to see him.’
‘Esther …’ Mr Alfaro scowled at his wife. ‘Leave the poor kid be.’
Esther Alfaro was the picture of wronged innocence. ‘What? All I said is if she sees him. We like Max. We haven’t seen him much lately. It was just an observation.’
‘I’ll pass the message on. I
f I see him,’ I smiled. As I left them, I could hear Saul chastising his wife.
‘You shouldn’t interfere.’
‘Who said I was interfering? Kids these days need a little … push, that’s all.’
‘Oh they could write a book about all you know about pushing, Esther Alfaro …’
Trying not to read too much into Mrs Alfaro’s mention of Max, I took more notes from Annie, chatted with Laverne about the counselling course she was taking at evening school and shared a little of my own career ambitions with her in return. But even with all this effort, the prospect of time in the company of a handsome man with gorgeous eyes and a smile that could make the hardest-hearted person melt like butter over a hot stack of pancakes was never far from my thoughts.
At one p.m. Annie patted me on the back. ‘Great work today, kid. You have a good day, now.’
Changing in the cramped staff loo into the vintage floral mini dress I’d bought a few weeks ago – newly embroidered with the addition of cotton daisies and tiny gold beads from the box of trimmings the shop owner had given me – I realised my hands were shaking. This is ridiculous, I scolded myself. It’s just a coffee …
But as I neared Java’s Crypt and the mist overhead began to clear, I hoped it might be more. I liked Max. He intrigued me and his easy manner invited me to spend more time with him. I was on holiday and had limited time in this city: why not make the most of it while I was here? Stopping short of admitting what I hoped might happen, I smiled at my reflection in the coffee shop’s window and stepped inside.
Ced was deep in conversation with Max, leaning on the edge of the booth and nodding gravely at whatever point Max was making. They were so engrossed that I had to pretend to cough before they realised I was standing beside them.
‘Nell – hi.’ Ced’s pale face and bruised purple lips broke into a non-Goth smile. ‘Great outfit. You make it yourself?’
‘I bought it from Well Beloved but customised it myself.’
‘Sweet. Loving your work. I’ll let you settle in – shout when you’re ready to order, yeah?’
‘Hi.’ Max half-stood to greet me, which was considerably problematic considering the table between the padded booth seats didn’t allow much room for such a movement.
‘Hi.’ I sat opposite him, my heart thumping in time with the heavy metal being pumped at a respectable volume into the coffee shop. Java’s Crypt might be true to its roots but it was nothing if not inclusive …
‘You look great.’ He pulled a face. ‘Man, how lame was that for an opener? I’ll start again. Nell, it’s good to see you.’
I giggled. ‘Good to see you, too. How’s it going with your exhibition? Everything ready for opening night?’
‘I think so. I was at our building from six this morning. We had circuits blowing, an installation collapse and half the artists threaten to leave – you know, the usual hitches. But when I left everyone was playing nice. So …’ he held up the black leather-bound menu, ‘shall we order?’
Ced brought coffee for Max and peppermint iced tea for me, with two of his signature Caesar’s Blood Wraps – which thankfully were sundried tomato tortillas wrapped around a creamy chicken Caesar filling with iceberg lettuce, and not the gory horror the name suggested. ‘Enjoy,’ he said, giving Max a blokey shoulder punch before he left us.
Max coughed awkwardly and smiled at me. ‘Ced’s a true original. So how was your diner internship today?’
‘Busy. Mrs Alfaro asked to be remembered to you “if I happened” to see you.’
‘Ah.’
‘You didn’t by any chance mention we were meeting today, did you?’
He shrugged. ‘Not intentionally. The Alfaros are my neighbours and I often see them when I come home from work. I did talk to them yesterday but I’m pretty sure I didn’t mention it.’
‘Knowing how fast word spreads around here you probably didn’t need to,’ I smiled.
He studied me. ‘Would it matter if people knew?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good.’
There was a pause as we both bit self-consciously into our wraps, the iceberg lettuce suddenly becoming the loudest salad vegetable known to man. Every bite seemed to echo ominously around Java’s Crypt, louder even than the music on the sound system. Swallowing was worse. After a couple of bites, I gave up. My appetite had vanished anyway and the peppermint iced tea looked like a much safer option.
And then, Max laughed. ‘Pardon me for mentioning this, but how loud is this lettuce?’
His remark blew away the awkwardness between us and I felt myself relaxing at last. ‘I know! I’m sorry. I know this is just a coffee date but it’s been a while since I’ve been on one.’
‘Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s been a while for me too. You leave someone behind in England?’
I didn’t mind his direct question. ‘No. I had an on-off thing with one guy for a few years but that’s over now. Hence the first date rustiness.’
‘I see. Me too, as a matter of fact. It’s been ten years since my last first date. I thought I’d forgotten how to do this – start from the beginning, that is. But I’m glad I did. I’d like to get to know you. And I was wondering if you’d consider spending some time with me?’
How perfect was this? ‘I’d really like that, Max.’
‘Excellent. I’m glad.’
We talked about where we grew up, what our families were like, what we’d wanted to do with our lives when we were kids. Max explained how he fell in love with sculpture at school and how his doting mother and grandfather had created a tiny studio for him in the back of the family garage, his grandpa fetching off-cuts of roof joists from a local builder for his first forays into what would become his profession. ‘I started with wood, moved to stone when I was at college and into other mediums as soon as I had any money. But there’ll always be something special about working with wood – it’s where I began.’
I told him about my former career in Planning and how, at the age of sixteen, I’d almost enrolled on a catering course at the local college until a careers advisor talked me out of it. He’d felt I should be pursuing a ‘higher profession’ and that I would soon tire of ‘just cooking’.
‘And now you’re planning your own restaurant,’ Max said. ‘Life has a way of bringing you back to the important stuff.’
‘It does. Although I’m a long way off from actually opening my own business,’ I said. ‘But knowing the direction I’m going in is a big leap forward.’
‘I believe that.’
Before I realised it, over an hour had passed. Talking to Max was so easy, his attentiveness and genuine interest in me both flattering and very attractive. And what was strange was how safe I felt in his company. There was no agenda, no sense of hidden ambushes lying in wait for me – just an honest, authentic interest in who I was. With Max I had no sense of caution – perhaps because I knew this couldn’t become anything other than a lovely holiday fling. I wasn’t pinning my hopes on Max Rossi being the love of my life, so the usual pressure of expectation simply wasn’t there. It felt good – and it made me want to get to know him even more.
When we stood in the street outside Java’s Crypt to say goodbye, the sun had finally broken through the cloud layer, making the whole of Haight Street sparkle. Max stepped forward and planted the softest of kisses on my cheek, lingering there a moment longer which caused every nerve in my spine to tingle.
‘Thank you. I had fun today.’
‘Me too.’
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue jeans and squinted up at the sky. ‘So what do you think about doing this again?’
‘I think it’s a great idea.’
‘Me too. The question is, when?’
My head was buzzing and I wasn’t certain I was capable of planning another date given my current giddiness. ‘Lizzie and I are coming to your exhibition on Thursday – perhaps we can discuss it then?’
‘Good idea. I’ll see you soon, Miss S
ullivan.’
‘You certainly will, Mr Rossi.’
We parted with shy smiles and I didn’t turn back as I walked towards Lizzie’s apartment, but my feet barely touched the ground. When I’d come to San Francisco, I hadn’t planned on a holiday romance. But then, I hadn’t planned on Max Rossi walking into my life …
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Getting to know you
‘Are we overdressed?’ Lizzie asked on Thursday evening, as the taxi dropped us on the sidewalk outside what looked like an old redbrick factory building down a side road off Divisadero Street. She indicated her turquoise dress, my little black dress and our high heels.
I had to admit that on first impressions this building was no MOMA and goosebumps prickled up my bare arms as I rapidly reached the same conclusion as Lizzie. ‘It didn’t say anything on the flyer about casual dress.’
‘It didn’t mention formal dress either.’ She shivered in the cool early evening breeze, taking off her wide silk scarf and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl.
‘Think it’ll be warmer inside?’ I asked, giggling more from cold than design.
‘It’d better be. I know you like this guy but I have my limits.’
Entering through an unremarkable steel door, what waited for us inside couldn’t have been further removed from the building’s drab exterior. The upper floors of the former warehouse had been removed and the entire interior painted bright white, lit by spotlights, creating an impressive art space. At one side a low black stage had been erected, where a group of people dressed in white jumpsuits and brandishing pots of paint were apparently engaged in a competition to see how many coloured spots they could paint on each other. A darkened area at one end of the art space was filled with a curved wall of flat-screen TV monitors in a video installation. Huge canvases hung on the white walls, a riot of colour and texture. Invited guests milled around, served champagne by smiling young servers dressed in white t-shirts printed with the exhibition’s flyer artwork. We accepted our glasses and joined the groups of onlookers floating slowly from one exhibit to another.
Take A Look At Me Now Page 16
