“So don’t ruin this one,” Nanette said. “I was upset about you losing David, but that’s all right now. Just don’t lose Calvin, too.”
“Mother, I don’t want him,” Min lied.
“Of course you want him,” Nanette said. “You’ll have beautiful children.”
“I don’t want those, either,” Min said. “New subject. I’m thinking about quitting my job to become a cook.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear,” Nanette said. “You around food? You’d blow up like a balloon.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Min said. “I’m going to go now.”
“Go where?”
“I’m having dinner with Cal’s parents.”
“That’s nice. Who are they?”
“Jefferson and Lynne Morrisey. I don’t know—”
“You’re having dinner with Lynne Morrisey?”
“Yes,” Min said. “Because she gave birth to my date, otherwise, I wouldn’t be.”
“Min,” her mother said, her voice dropping in respect. “Lynne Morrisey is huge in the Urban League.”
“I’m so sorry,” Min said, thinking that was the first time she’d ever heard Nanette say “huge” with approval.
“No carbs, darling,” Nanette said. “And tell me everything when you get home.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Min said and hung up to go back to her hair problem.
When Cal knocked on her door, she and Elvis were contemplating a headband without much confidence.
“Do you think a headband?” she said to Cal when she opened the door.
“Christ, no,” he said, reaching down to pet the cat, who had come to purr at his feet. “Look at you, you’re in mourning again.”
“Don’t even try to talk me out of this dress,” she said.
He looked down. “At least give me your feet. How about the shoes with the black bows, the ones you wore the first night?”
“Cal,” Min said.
“It’s not a lot to ask,” he said, leaning in the doorway grinning at her. “Go change your shoes, Minnie, and then we’ll face the dragons together.”
She smiled back in spite of herself. “That charm stuff doesn’t work on me,” she told him and went to change her shoes.
Chapter Ten
When they were in the car, she said, “Okay, give me the cheat sheet for your parents.”
“There is none,” Cal said. “They will be very polite but not warm. We don’t have to chill the wine at home, the atmosphere does it for us.”
“Oh, good,” Min said, “this is exactly the time I want to hear jokes.”
But when they arrived at his parents’ home, she realized he wasn’t being funny. The house was large, one of the Prairie mansions that always looked to Min like ranch houses on steroids; the maid at the paneled door was polite, the paneled hall was cool, and when they went into what Min doubted they called the living room, Cal’s parents were downright frigid.
“We’re so pleased to have you,” Lynne Morrisey said to Min, taking her hand. She didn’t look pleased; she didn’t look anything but darkly, stunningly, expensively beautiful, as did her husband, Jefferson, and her son, Reynolds, possibly the only man on the planet who made Cal look a little plain.
“Min!” Harry said from behind her, and she turned and saw him towing Bink into the room.
“Hey, you,” she said, bending down to him. “Thanks for the dinner invitation. I was starving.”
Harry nodded and then leaned forward and whispered, “I like your shoes. The bows are neat.” He nodded at her, grinning maniacally.
“Thank you,” Min whispered back, and stole a glance at Cal. His face was expressionless, and she realized he hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. O-kay, she thought. Welcome to hell.
She did her best to make politely chilly conversation until they were all seated and served with a series of plates beautifully presented with syrup swirls. Then she gave up and just ate.
“What is it that you do, Minerva?” Jefferson said when they’d reached the filet-and-piped-potatoes course.
Min swallowed and prayed she didn’t have anything in her teeth. “I’m an actuary.”
“I see,” he said, not impressed but not scornful, either. “Who’s your employer?”
“Alliance,” Min said, and went back to her rare beef. The food was both beautiful and excellent, she had to give the Morriseys credit for that, but it wasn’t Emilio’s. They needed a few comic ethnic photos on the wall to liven things up. Not that they’d ever admit to being ethnic. She glanced around the table. Irish, she’d bet, and not just because of the name. Dark and beautiful, all of them, in that austere, tragic way. She looked down at her lavishly presented plate. Although the potato famine was clearly behind them.
“Dobbs,” Cal’s father said, and Min realized he’d been silent for a while. “George Dobbs is a vice president there.”
“That’s my father,” Min said.
Jefferson Morrisey smiled at her. “You went to work for your father’s firm.”
“Well, it’s not as if he owns it,” Min said, positive there was a land mine somewhere in the conversation. “But he was a help in getting me the job.”
“You didn’t need any help,” Cal said, his voice flat. “You’re an actuary. You must have had forty offers.”
“There were a lot,” Min said, wondering what the hell was going on. “But there weren’t a lot of great offers. My dad helped.”
“That was very wise of you,” Lynne Morrisey said.
Min turned to meet her cold dark eyes and thought, I don’t want you approving of me, lady.
“To take the help your father offered,” Lynne went on. “Very wise.”
“Well.” Min put down her fork. “It came with no strings attached, so there wasn’t a down side.”
Across the table, Reynolds smiled and became even better looking. I don’t like you, either, Min thought. Bink sat frozen, not in terror so much as in watchfulness, and between them, Harry clutched his fork and plowed his way through his piped potatoes, keeping an eye on everybody.
“And many benefits, no doubt,” Jefferson was saying. “I’m sure your father helped you along the way.”
“She made it on her own,” Cal said, his voice still flat. “Insurance companies are not sentimental. She holds the record for promotions within her company and nobody’s saying it’s because of her father. She’s smart, she’s hardworking, and she’s excellent at what she does.”
There was something bleak and awful in his voice, out of proportion to the tension in the conversation, and Min discreetly put her hand on his back. Even through his suit coat, his muscles were so rigid that it was like patting cement. She felt him tense even tighter for a moment at her touch, and then his shoulders went down a little.
“Of course she is,” Jefferson was saying, but he was looking at his wife, a half smile on his face. “We think it’s admirable of her that she followed in her father’s footsteps.”
“My father’s not an actuary,” Min said.
“Of course not, dear,” Lynne said, a little edge to her voice. “We admire you for making the right choice and staying in your father’s business.” She smiled past Min to Cal. “Don’t you think so, Cal?”
“I don’t think Min ever makes a mistake,” Cal said. “This filet is excellent.”
“Cal didn’t go into the family business,” Reynolds said, smiling at Min, pseudo-pals, and Min thought, And you are dumb as a rock to be the one who says that out loud.
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would he?” Min said brightly. She took her hand away from Cal’s back, thought, I’m never going to see these people again so screw ’em all.
“Why would he go into the family business?” Lynne echoed, raising one eyebrow, which annoyed Min because she was pretty sure she couldn’t do it. “Because it’s his legacy.”
“No,” Min said, and across from her, Bink’s eyes widened even farther. “It would be completely wrong for him. He’s clearly d
oing what he should be doing.” She turned to smile at Cal and found him staring straight ahead, at the space between Bink and Harry. Okay, he’s gone, she thought, and looked at Harry. He was still clutching his fork, checking faces. No wonder the kid threw up all the time.
Jefferson cleared his throat. “Wrong for him to go into a well-respected and established law firm? Nonsense. It’s the Morrisey tradition.”
Min blinked. “You went into your father’s business? I thought you and your partner started the firm.”
Across the table, Bink did the impossible and made her little owl face even more impassive.
“They did,” Reynolds said from across the table, indignation in his voice. “They began the tradition.”
“I don’t think you can call two generations a tradition,” Min said, trying to make her voice speculative, as if she were considering it. She looked at Harry. “You want to be a lawyer, Harry?”
Harry blinked at her. “No. I want to be an ichthyologist.”
Min blinked back. “Fish?”
“Yeah.” Harry lifted his chin and grinned.
“Good for you,” Min said.
“Harrison is a child,” Lynne said. “Next week, he’ll want to be a fireman.” She smiled at Harry, almost with warmth.
“No, next week, I’ll want to be an ichthyologist,” Harry said, and finished his potatoes.
I love you, kid, Min thought.
“Harrison,” Lynne said to him. “Why don’t you have your dessert in the kitchen with Sarah?”
“Okay.” Harry scooted back his chair. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, dear,” Lynne said, and Min watched him trot out of the room, thinking, Harry, you lucky dog.
“Now,” Lynne said, turning back to the table with her lizard smile. “I apologize for interrupting you, Minerva. What were you saying?” She looked at Min as if to say, You have a chance to back down; take it.
Min smiled back at her. Bite me, lady. “I was saying that if you analyze the situation, you’ll see it was always impossible that Cal would go into the firm.”
Jefferson put down his fork.
Min picked up her wineglass. “To begin with, he’s the younger child. Older children tend to follow in the family footsteps because they’re pleasers.” She smiled across the table at Reynolds. “That’s why they’re so often successful.” She took a sip of excellent wine, while they all watched her with varying degrees of frigidity. “Also, they tend to get the lion’s share of attention and respect so their success is a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. But youngest children learn that they have to be more demanding to get attention, so they become rule breakers.”
“I suspect your psychology is less than professional,” Jefferson said, smiling at her with no warmth whatsoever.
“No, it’s pretty much a given,” Min said. “The colloquial evidence is even there. All the way back to myth and legend. After all, it’s always the youngest son who goes out to seek his fortune in fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales,” Reynolds said, chuckling like a fathead, while Bink continued her imitation of a frozen owl.
Min turned back to Jefferson. “Then consider Cal’s personality. His friends tell me that he rarely makes a bet he doesn’t win. The knee-jerk reaction to that is that he’s a gambler, but he’s not. If he were a gambler, he’d lose half the time. Instead, he calculates the odds, and only takes the risks he knows he can capitalize on.” She looked across the table at Reynolds. “As the younger son in the family firm, he’d never make it to the top. That’s such a bad risk, I doubt he ever considered joining the firm.”
“He’d have made partner,” Jefferson said, all pretense of light conversation gone.
“Third partner, maybe, after he’d followed you and Reynolds around,” Min said. “Plus there’d be your partner and his children to contend with. Within the family, he’s always going to be the baby. He had to get out. And then, of course, there’s the dyslexia.”
The silence that settled over the table that time was so complete that Min was amazed there wasn’t hoarfrost on all of them. She picked up her knife and fork and cut into her filet again, wishing she could ask for a Styrofoam box and go home.
“We prefer not to discuss Cal’s handicap,” Lynne said with finality.
Min took her time with the filet, but when she’d swallowed, she said, “Why? It’s part of who he is, it helped shape him. It’s not shameful. Over ten percent of the population is dyslexic, so it’s not rare. And it’s a large part of why he started his own firm. Ninety-two percent of dyslexics go into business for themselves. They need to control the environment in which they work because the regular working environment isn’t sympathetic to their needs. And they generally do very well because they are generally intelligent, empathetic people.” She picked up her water glass. “You have a son who’s smart, hardworking, successful, popular, healthy, charming, and extremely pleasant to look at. I’m surprised you’re not passing his picture around to all your friends, bragging about him.” She turned to smile up at Cal and found him watching her, his face wooden. “I’d brag about him if he were mine and I had a picture.”
“We are, of course, quite proud of Calvin,” Lynne said, her voice bleak.
“Oh, good,” Min said, going back to her plate. “He’s right about the filet, too. It’s fabulous.”
“Thank you,” Lynne said, and then she turned to Reynolds and asked him about work. Fifteen minutes later, dessert was served; Reynolds, Lynne, and Jefferson were discussing the firm; Cal was still silent; Bink had eaten three slivers of carrot and sucked down all her wine; and Min had had enough.
She put her napkin down by her plate, and said, “You know, I’m really Harry’s date, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll join him.” Then she got up and went out to the hall to find the kitchen.
When she got there, Harry was finishing off his ice cream under the watchful eyes of the woman who’d served dinner.
“Hey, fish guy,” she said. “Is there any more of that?”
Harry nodded at the woman. “She’s the one, Sarah.”
“Huh,” Sarah said, surveying Min from head to toe. “What would you like on your ice cream?”
“Chocolate,” Min said, sitting down across from Harry. “Chocolate is always good.”
Harry scraped the bottom of his bowl with his spoon, and then sat silently looking at Min, as owlish as his mother, until Sarah put Min’s ice cream in front of her. There was a lot of it.
“Thank you,” Min said, taken aback. “I’m Min, by the way.” She held out her hand to the maid.
“Sarah,” the woman said, shaking it. “Eat it before it melts.”
Min nodded and scooped up a spoonful. The ice cream was heavenly, superfatted and smooth, and the chocolate exquisitely light and bittersweet. She had to hand it to Lynne Morrisey: The woman provided excellent food.
Sarah leaned back against the sink. “So you talked back to the Snow Queen?”
Min thought about pretending she didn’t understand and then shrugged. “I disagreed with her.”
Sarah nodded. “You won’t be back.”
“Lord, no,” Min said.
Harry put down his spoon, alarmed. “Are you still coming to the park?”
“Yes,” Min said. “Although I’m not sure your uncle Cal is still speaking to me.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” Sarah said. “Quiet. We don’t see him much.”
“I can imagine,” Min said, and then Cal came into the kitchen. “Hi, there,” she said, waving her spoon at him. “Turns our your mom has great taste in ice cream, too.” Which figured, come to think of it.
Cal nodded, expressionless. “You ready to go?”
Min looked at her full bowl of premium sugar and fat, and sighed. “Yes,” she said obediently and put her spoon down. If she were Cal, she’d be screaming to get out of here, too.
Cal went out into the hall and Harry said, “Can I have your ice cream?”
“Will you barf?” Min
said.
Harry shook his head. “Not ice cream.”
Min pushed the bowl across to him. “Knock yourself out.” She stood up. “It was very nice meeting you, Sarah.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said. “Good luck.”
She met Cal in the hall, and he opened the door for her without speaking. They’d almost made it to the steps when Bink appeared in the doorway. “Well?” she said to Cal.
Cal shook his head at her, and she smiled at Min and said, “It was so nice to see you again,” sounding as if she meant it. Cal turned and walked down the steps as Bink slipped away again, and Min followed him, fairly sure they were about to fight.
Well, she had no regrets. She slid into the front seat of Cal’s car and settled into the leather seat. Okay, she’d miss the car. And the food, although she could still go to Emilio’s without him. And—
Cal got in the car and slammed the door and then sat there for a moment, and Min looked at his rigid profile and thought, And you. I’m going to miss you.
“What did Bink want?” she said, trying to stave off whatever was coming.
Cal turned to her, and when he spoke, his voice was so strained it almost broke. “I am so sorry about that.”
“What?” Min said, taken aback.
“My family.” He closed his eyes, and then said viciously, “They usually behave very well in front of strangers.”
“I don’t think I was their type,” Min said, keeping her voice light. “And then I was rude. But the good news is, I got great food and I never have to see them again. Do you know what kind of ice cream that was? Because it was phenomenal, although I’m guessing it wasn’t nonfat.”
“You don’t care?” Cal said.
“That your mother is a witch and your father is a bastard and your brother is a supercilious moron?” Min said. “No. Why should I? They’re not my family. Who are looking pretty damn good right about now, so I owe you for that. Now about the ice cream—”
He leaned forward and kissed her, hard, and she put her hand on his cheek and kissed him back, falling into that same hot, glittery rush she got every time, so glad to be touching him, to have his hand laced through her curls, to be with him. When he broke the kiss, she stayed close to him, not ready to let him go. “Was that because I insulted your mother?” she said, a little dazed. “Because I have lots of other horrible things to say about her.”
Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me Page 59
