Finally, the caterers finished filling the banquet trays along one side of the terrace, and the DJ called everyone to the buffet. Danielle and Omar sat at a sweetheart’s table at the edge of the dance floor. They fed each other from plates Selin brought for them. Miranda looked at the empty tables, unsure where to sit. Before Jellie could pull her back out to the dance floor, Scott materialized.
“Sorry,” he whispered into her ear. “Lynn says hi. I had to call. Didn’t mean to miss the start of the party.”
“Here,” she said, handing him her wine glass. “Catch up then. Lynn is okay?”
“She’s great. Off the bunny hill and onto the big one, she said. I had to tell her all about the wedding. She’s hoping you get to bring this dress home.”
“You told her about the dress?”
“I texted her a picture.”
“Ugh!”
“No ugh. You are beautiful. Lynn agreed—she said you look like one of the Christmas Barbie dolls.”
“Nice. I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Randa, I mean it. You are beautiful. Come, let’s find a seat.”
Miranda felt the butterflies fly up in her stomach. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and steered her toward a table with the other younger men friends of Omar and a few of Danielle’s students.
“You are her friend,” the one guy, who introduced himself as Ted said. “I will practice my English with you tonight,” he said.
“Leave her alone,” another one said, punching Ted in the arm. “And you’re name isn’t Ted.”
“It’s Ted when I speak English.”
“We’re going to get some food,” Scott said. “Be right back.”
Miranda collapsed in giggles against Scott’s chest as they waited in the buffet line.
“They’ve been going on like that all day. I keep hoping the wine will lighten them up, but it just seems to make them even more punchy. On the walk over, they were fighting about soccer. Before that it was whether or not a Ford is the best car. And before that it was something about a television program, a soap opera of some kind.”
“We don’t have to sit there,” Miranda said.
“It’s actually fun. And I don’t plan on sitting much. You will dance with me, right?”
“Are you asking?”
“Yes, I am asking. Will you dance with me?”
They loaded their plates with rice and grilled chicken and vegetables and more hummus and pita. “You remember the first time we danced?” Miranda asked.
“Avery and Stanton’s wedding. I guess I have a thing for girls in bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“Girls?”
“Well, you, really. I was so scared that night. You looked so grown up. I kept trying to figure out how you got older than me in one night’s time.”
At their table, the boys had cleared out already—they danced wildly to a hip-hop mix, pretending to break dance. Ted kept trying to spin himself around on his head.
“The whole time we danced, I was trying to keep my arms down, so you wouldn’t see the sweat circles. Satin in June is killer.”
“How about today?” Scott asked.
“All good,” she said, lifting her fork over her head. “They make better deodorant now. So, something else will have to embarrass me. Probably my dancing skills.”
“We could be embarrassed together then.”
Omar and Danielle finally took the dance floor as the DJ played a slow number Miranda recognized from her prom. The boys from their table paired off, and began dancing together in a mock slow dance, feeling each other up. Omar’s grandmother took her cane and swatted them off the dance floor. “She looks happy,” Miranda said.
“Who? The grandmother? I know, right? She’s been dying to hit someone with that cane all day.”
“Not the grandmother,” Miranda laughed. “Dani. She loves him so much. I can’t believe everything that happened to them.”
“Omar is a lucky man. He gets the whole package.”
“Whole package?”
“You know, the wife and the family. All together. It’s better that way.”
“I don’t know, you seem to be doing fine.”
“Fine, sure. But it’s lonely, Miranda. I want to share it with someone. I’ve really enjoyed being with you again. I missed this. It’s easy with you. I don’t have to explain everything—you already know the story.”
“It is nice,” Miranda said. “I can’t imagine why you believed them when they said I didn’t want to talk to you anymore. What made you think they could all of sudden speak for me?”
“Probably because at the time I didn’t want to talk to myself, either. I screwed up. I did know Cassadee because of drugs. In college, I thought that money in the bank meant you could do whatever you want—party all the time. Getting that job with the firm just meant more money. Then that one phone call changed everything. I learned really quickly how wrong I had been. You were too good for me and my messed-up life. I was embarrassed, I guess, and overwhelmed.”
“But I would have understood. I do understand.”
“I know that now, but I didn’t then. Do you forgive me?” He picked up her hand and kissed it.
“There’s no reason to. Come on, show me your dance moves. Surely you must have learned something worthwhile from all that partying.”
Scott stood up quickly and grabbed her hand. At the dance floor, with one deft maneuver, he spun her tightly against him with his hand on her waist. He kissed her cheek, then released her with a quick spin toward the other couples. Then he pivoted and pulled her back up against him.
“There,” he whispered into her ear as they swayed close together.
“There what?” she said, smiling up at him, delightfully dizzy like after getting off a carnival ride.
“That’s my dance move, that’s it. Just that.”
“That was pretty good.”
“Well, when you only got one move, it has to be good. For the rest of the evening, you are just going to have to enjoy the sway.”
“The sway?”
“Yup, you and me, side to side like we are on the deck of Linden’s sailboat and a storm is about to come in. Back and forth, back and forth.” He rocked her from side to side to exaggerate.
“Oh, do I get stay close to you like this?” She pushed her body against his, feeling the muscles in his thighs working.
He kissed the top of her head and slowed his motion. “I’d like it very much if you stayed right there.”
The DJ switched to a fast Turkish pop song, one that everyone seemed to recognize. The younger people exploded into wild moves with whooping and jumping. Scott steered Miranda to the side of the dance floor, but they didn’t release from their embrace. They didn’t stop for cake or for coffee. Or even when Jellie attempted to take their picture with a camera she stole from the photographer. Fast or slow song, they remained paired tightly together.
“So, you go back tomorrow,” Danielle said as they stood outside the reception hall.
“Yup,” Miranda said. “With a layover in Paris.”
“Paris, with your new boyfriend. You’re slow to start, but once you get going, you really roll.”
“I’m glad you’re over the shock and back to teasing me about my love life, old married lady. It’s just a layover, not some romantic vacation,” Miranda said.
“I’m going to miss you more now that you have been here. Before, being in Turkey was different from my life in the States, like a dream or something. And now it’s real. Really real.”
“You’re going to be a mom. That’s as real as it gets. I wish I could be here for that part. I’d like to see it.”
“I’m scared, Randa. Keep calling me, okay?”
“Of course I will. But only after your honeymoon.”
Omar stepped outside and cleared his throat. “Love,” he said. “The car is here.”
Miranda hugged Danielle tightly. “Enjoy your trip! At least you don’t have to worry
about getting knocked up.”
“Very funny. I could turn that around on you, you know?”
Miranda winced. “Ouch,” she said. “Not yet, okay. I don’t even know if we’re dating.”
“Oh, you are,” Danielle said, turning to leave. She stopped at the door and picked up her bouquet from the table. “Here,” she said. “Catch.”
C H A P T E R
BUT IT’S ONLY A LAYOVER,” Miranda said to Scott as they stood in the concourse looking at the departure board for their flight from Paris to JFK.
“Yes, a twelve-hour layover. In Paris. On New Year’s Eve,” Scott said. “You can’t tell me that you have not once entertained a single fantasy about being in Paris. Me, I want to go see the Mona Lisa. And eat a croissant. And get a new poster for my classroom. Maybe of the Mona Lisa and eat another croissant. Or a crepe.” He danced around in a circle. Miranda could clearly see where Lynn got her enthusiasm, though she danced much better.
“That all sounds good. I could do that. Especially the crepe part.”
“But that’s my Paris fantasy. We have time for yours, too. Tell me. Name one thing that would just scream Paris for you. On a schoolteacher’s salary, it’s not like I get this opportunity all the time, and what, you’re a poet. Let’s enjoy this.”
“Let’s get a cab to the Louvre and start there.”
“Whatever,” Scott said, dancing his jig up the concourse. “We can start there, but you will tell me.”
“Les Deux Magots,” she called out to him.
He stopped and turned around. He cocked his head to the side and put his hand on his hip. “I’m listening.”
She strode forward to him. “I want to write a poem at Les Deux Magots. While having a drink or a coffee or something. I hadn’t thought that part out.”
“Now we’re cooking. I bet I could get my croissant there. Allez-y!”
“So now you speak French?” she asked, walking double time to keep up with him.
“Nope—just that, really, and merci. Which by the way, Merci. Merci beaucoup.”
“You’re welcome?”
“No seriously, Miranda, I haven’t been on an adventure in six years. I’ve missed the way this feels.” He put his arms to the side and fluttered them.
“Free?” she asked.
“Yeah, and light. I know she’s safe with my parents, and well, I can just do this. And I’m not even going to think about the credit card bill until February.” He repeated his Gene Kelly move.
“Oh, this,” she said. Balancing one hand on her suitcase handle she approximated the heel click.
“I’ll give you a seven for effort. We have to work on that.”
Despite the chill of December, many patrons sat on the terrace of the café sipping espresso from tiny cups and enjoying all manner of pastries while the sun warmed the sidewalk. The waiters, in black coats and bow ties, with starched white aprons, moved deftly through the crowd, refilling cups and even pouring wine despite the early hour. The maître d’ led Miranda and Scott to a table on the edge of the terrace, giving them a view of the whole café and the street that ran alongside it.
“Hemingway wrote here,” Miranda whispered to him. “And Joyce, and Sartre, and Simone de Beauvoir. Picasso, too.”
“And now you, too. Shall I order for us?”
“Do you do that in French, too?” Miranda asked.
Just then the waiter appeared. He introduced himself far too quickly for Miranda to understand. Scott opened the menu and pointed a few times and then held up two fingers. The waiter nodded and slipped off into the stream of other waiters entering and exiting the café proper.
“What did you order?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Let’s just hope for the best.”
And the best it was. A complete petit dejeuner with croissants, coffee, apple juice and some tartlets. Each morsel tasted better than the last. “Ah,” Miranda said, a bit of croissant melting on her tongue. “This is wonderful.”
Scott didn’t bother to swallow before responding. “It is,” he said, mouth full of tartlet. “I might need two croissants after we visit the Mona Lisa. But we aren’t done here. You need to write your poem first.”
Miranda winced. “It doesn’t quite work like that. It’s been so long since I wrote a real poem, you know with paper and pen. It might take me a bit. I don’t want to waste our time in Paris.”
“Would this help?” he said, pulling out the smallest travel Scrabble Miranda had ever seen. “I brought it so we could play on the plane, but I forgot. I got so wrapped up in talking to you and then we fell asleep. In Turkey, there was no time.”
“You can say that again! I can’t imagine that kind of wedding. Too much.”
“Really? You wouldn’t want all that? The big dress and the parties?”
Miranda took the Scrabble board from him and opened it. She started to select tiles and move them around the board. Even though it would be saccharine, she needed to start with Paris. Scott began to finger the tiles as well, making words for her to review like light and pastry.
“After my mom died, I didn’t think I ever wanted to be in a church again.”
“A wedding doesn’t have to take place in a church.” Scott laid out Seine.
“Seine—good one. I need Louvre. This will be real touristy. I know they don’t need a church, but that’s what my mom always talked about. We would go to other people’s weddings, and she would say, ‘When you get married, we’ll decorate the pews with bows,’ or ‘The organist will play this.’ You know, she planned everything.”
“She did, didn’t she? Always liked to know exactly what was going to happen next.”
Miranda had Paris and Seine and Louvre.
The waiter reappeared. He leaned down and arranged love from the v in Louvre. “Pardon,” he said. “L’addition.”
Scott handed him a credit card and added, “Merci.” The waiter again disappeared into the sea of tables.
“Good touch.”
“Allow me,” Scott said. He turned the board and took a picture.
“I know it’s not done, but it’s a start. I don’t want to waste our whole time here. Let’s go find the Mona Lisa. But wait—” Miranda fished through the letters again, adding Mona and Lisa. Scott snapped the new picture.
They returned to the airport with under an hour to spare and bags of posters and chocolates for everyone at home. They found a framed print of one of Degas’ ballerina paintings for Lynn and the Mona Lisa painting for Scott’s classroom. Miranda bought postcards to send to Dani and Omar and Omar’s parents to thank them for the hospitality. They collapsed into the plastic airport chairs, exhausted from the last few days but buzzing from all the chocolate chauds and crepes they had consumed.
Their flight left at midnight. Scott looked at his watch. “Which time zone do you want to celebrate in?”
“Celebrate?” Miranda asked.
“New Year’s Eve, silly. It’s almost midnight here. Midnight already happened in Turkey.”
The flight attendants emerged from a door next to the flight stand with three bottles of champagne in hand. “Everyone,” they said, first in English then in French. “Before we board, let’s toast to the New Year.”
The mix of clearly exhausted vacationers lined up to receive their champagne in the tiny plastic cups. They counted down to midnight, “Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un.” Then cheers of “Bonne Annee” went up over the loud speaker and then came the Choral des Adieux. Based on the music, it was clearly a French Auld Lang Syne.
Miranda wiped at her eyes. “Damn it,” she said. “This always makes me cry.”
“Here,” Scott said, “let me take your mind off that.” He leaned down and kissed her. He pressed the whole length of his body against her and wrapped his arms around her back. She moved her hands to rest on his shoulders and stood on tiptoes to meet his embrace.
She wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but she knew it was the first time she would re
member a New Year’s kiss.
“To many more?” Scott asked, raising his plastic cup.
“To many more,” she said, lifting her own.
While they waited for their luggage, Miranda finally turned on her phone. The staggering number of email messages, mostly from Ambrose, overwhelmed her. Two hundred and fifty of them. She scrolled through the list, pausing at the subject line. Classes cancelled. Then the next one from the President of the College with the subject line, Request for Meeting. Then her phone faded to black. No battery. Again.
“Scott, can I borrow your phone? I think something has happened.”
“What? Are your parents okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Nothing like that. Something with Ambrose. And my job.”
Just as Scott handed her the phone, the luggage conveyor belt fired up with several shrill beeps and an asthmatic whirling wheeze. The speed must have been set too high as the carousel spun rapidly, sending everyone’s luggage and golf clubs wildly around. Some bags lost their purchase and flipped off at the feet of the people waiting. It became a mad scramble. Miranda handed Scott his phone back and began searching the wreckage for their luggage.
As they got to her car, Scott’s phone rang.
“Lynn,” he shouted. “We’re back!”
Miranda watched the giant smile spread across his face as they loaded the bags into the trunk. She could hear the faint chirrups of excitement through the phone as Lynn told Scott all about snowboarding that day. Scott pointed at the phone and then pointed at Miranda. He pantomimed driving, his hands at ten and two on an imaginary wheel. She nodded and got into the driver’s seat. As much as she wanted to call Ambrose and the president of the university, she wanted to listen to Scott try to get a word in with Lynn. The music of their conversation washed over her like sunshine. She watched his animated gesticulations explaining how tall the Eiffel Tower was and how many crepes they ate while walking around Paris.
Triple Love Score Page 18
