by Karen Cimms
The second course wasn’t any more promising than the first. It was a combination of cod, mussels, cockles, calamari, and shitake mushrooms.
Here I’d been worried about not knowing which fork to use. The way things were going, I might not use any of them.
“Aren’t you hungry?” the woman sitting across from me asked. I’d already forgotten her name, but I had noticed that her face hardly moved when she spoke. I was starving, actually, but so far all I’d eaten was a dinner roll.
“Not really. I had a big lunch.” That was a lie. I’d skipped lunch so that I could go dress shopping.
“You don’t like that either?” Preston asked quietly.
I shook my head. “Did you choose my meal for me?” I asked, surprised that he’d gone so far out of the box.
He cleared his throat and reached for the crystal glass filled with ice water and took a sip. Of course he hadn’t chosen my dinner. He hadn’t chosen it because he didn’t know until today that he was bringing me. The knowledge that this was most likely Suzanne’s meal, made it even less palatable.
By the time the third course was served, I was certain the man next to me could hear my stomach growling. My plate held three baby carrots, a sliced beet, porcini mushrooms, and some type of meat on a thin bone and chunks of something fried, nestled on a bed of polenta and drizzled with a white cream sauce. The same dish was set down in front of Preston.
I might get to use my knife and fork after all. I sliced into the meat, but nothing about it looked familiar. “What is this?” I asked Preston, poking it with my knife.
I waited while he finished chewing the bite he’d just put into his mouth. “Braised rabbit. It’s delicious. And those,” he pointed to the crispy fried rounds, “are sweetbreads.”
“Sweetbreads?”
“Offal. Organ meat. It’s a delicacy.”
“Sounds awful.”
The man beside me laughed. Apparently, I’d spoken much louder than I’d intended. Keeping my eyes on my plate, I cut off a chunk of carrot and popped it into my mouth and chewed. It was the tastiest carrot I’d ever eaten. I hated beets, but I ate them as well. Then I ate whatever polenta I could scrape out that hadn’t touched the rabbit or the sweetbreads.
“Please let me ask the waiter to bring you something else.”
“I’m fine. Like I said, I had a big lunch. I’m saving room for dessert.”
When dinner was mostly over, the twelve-piece orchestra that had been quietly tuning up began to play.
Preston held out his hand. “Dance?”
“I’d love to.” I was rising from my chair when an older gentleman stepped in front of me, escorting an elegant-looking woman. The man addressed the three men sitting at our table. “William, Edwin, Charles, I hope you and your lovely wives are enjoying yourselves this evening.”
They bantered back and forth for a few moments while Preston stood stiffly at my side. When the small talk died down, the man fixed a sharp gaze on me and held out his hand. “Since my son has forgotten his manners this evening, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Preston F. Jamison II. This is my wife, Gwendolyn.”
I wanted to sink into the floor. Preston’s parents carried themselves so regally, I had a strange desire to curtsey. I held out a shaky hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir. I’m Rain.”
He leaned closer, as if he hadn’t quite heard me. “Excuse me? Rain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What a delightful name. I hope that doesn’t mean you’re sad and depressing to be around.”
I glanced at Preston, expecting him to respond, but he said nothing. His body language, however, spoke volumes. His shoulders were back, his nostrils flared, his chin raised, his eyes hard. The only movement was the barely noticeable flicker along his jaw. He and daddy mustn’t get along very well.
It was important that Preston’s parents liked me, so despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach, I turned on the barroom charm. “No, sir. I certainly hope not.”
Mr. Jamison let go of my hand, and I held it out toward his mother. She glanced down as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. At least she didn’t keep me hanging too long before giving it a limp bob up and down.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Jamison.”
Preston resembled his mother. It was obvious in the way she held her head, especially when her nostrils flared before she spoke.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Before I could dwell on how badly this version of Meet the Parents was going, Mr. Jamison placed his hand on my elbow and pointed me toward the dance floor.
“My dear, would you do me the honor? I’m sure Preston wouldn’t mind if his old man has a go at you first.”
The two of them exchanged looks, and I thought Preston’s jaw might actually crack, but still, he said nothing. Tension swirled around us—so dark and heavy, it weighed on my skin. Despite that, Mr. Jamison was all smiles as he led me away from Preston and his mother.
With his hand against the bare skin of my lower back, he swung me out onto the dance floor like he was a celebrity guest on Dancing with the Stars. Although this wasn’t my kind of dancing, the way Preston’s father moved us about the floor had me feeling like a pro.
He pulled me close, his mouth hovering above my ear. “So tell me, how did you and Preston meet?”
“He came into the bar where I work a few months ago.”
“I see. And what, exactly, do you do at this bar?”
It could’ve just been nerves, but I wasn’t sure I cared for his tone.
“I’m a bartender.”
He twirled me out and pulled me back in. The man had serious moves. “Is it a club of some sort? I think if I’d seen you tending bar at one of Preston’s regular haunts, I surely would’ve recognized you.”
The idea of Blondie’s being a club was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help laughing. “No. Definitely not a club. Just a regular old neighborhood bar.” So that he understood I was more than just a bartender, I also told him about the luncheonette.
“So you cook too? An admirable quality in a woman.”
I caught a glimpse of Preston’s mother talking animatedly with him on the edge of the dance floor. It was difficult to picture her standing in a kitchen, let alone in front of a stove flipping pancakes.
“I bake too,” I blurted out. I loved baking, and I was good at it, but trying to talk myself up from bartender to baker, didn’t sound all that impressive, even to my ears. “And we cater.” I should just stop talking.
“I promise you then, the next time we need a bartending baking caterer for one of our functions, you will be the first person we call. You’ll have to contact my secretary and give her your rates. Do you charge by the hour?”
He was mocking me. Despite his charming smile and polished manners, he was easy to read. He disliked me. As far as he was concerned, I didn’t belong there. At least not on the dance floor. My place was behind the bar or better yet, in the kitchen where no one would see me.
And he sure as hell didn’t want me dating his son.
As if I’d somehow summoned him, Preston tapped his father on the shoulder.
“You’ve monopolized my girl long enough,” he said, although his eyes were focused on mine. “It my turn now.” He practically wrenched my hand away from his father and stepped between us.
“Of course. Thank you for the dance, Rain. And don’t forget, please contact my secretary. Preston will give you the number.”
Preston twirled us away before I could respond and didn’t stop until we were practically on the other side of the dance floor.
“What was that about?” he asked. “What number?”
I debated telling him his father was a jackass, although chances were pretty good he already knew.
“He wanted me to leave my information with his secretary so he can call me next time he needs a bartender.”
His hand tightened over mine. “I’m sorry. He’s a controlling son of a bitch. He shouldn’t have
said something like that to you. You can’t help it you’re only a bartender.”
Gee, thanks. That doesn’t make me feel bad at all.
I was about to excuse myself, when one of Preston’s friends cut in and asked me to dance. Before Preston could turn him away, I accepted. I needed a minute away from him before I said something not likely heard on the dance floor in a country club before.
Once the first guy opened the gate, Preston’s friends spilled out onto the floor, cutting in—repeatedly—until I got tired of being passed around like a hot potato. I excused myself and made a beeline for the ladies’ room.
I opened the door to find a beautifully appointed room decorated in salmon, cream, and gold. There was an ornate love seat with carved wooden accents and a matching wing chair. A coffee table with the same carved legs held a huge arrangement of fresh flowers. A woman in a white uniform stood beside a fancy wooden chair. Her eyes widened when she saw me, but her features quickly smoothed back into place. I bet not too many women dressed like me walked through those doors.
Oddly, the only thing missing were toilets. Sensing my confusion, the attendant motioned toward a hallway to the right. I gave her a nod and a smile. How rich did you have to be before you expected someone on standby in case you ran out of toilet paper?
The bathroom facilities were as nice as the room leading to them. There was a long peach-colored granite countertop with four sinks, and directly across from that were four separate stalls with louvered doors. I slipped into the last stall.
Here I was, perched on the edge of the toilet, locked in a stall in the most elegant restroom I’d ever seen, wishing for a window. Better yet, a time machine.
What the hell had I been thinking, wearing a dress like this? Everywhere I’d looked, people had been staring. Preston had seemed amused, right up until the time his father had asked me to dance.
I tugged a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll and blew my nose. I was giving myself a pep talk, when the door to the ladies’ room opened. From the ring of the laughter, it sounded as if two or three women had entered.
“Oh my god, I almost died when they walked in. Could you imagine what poor Suzanne would say if she saw Preston with that Barbie doll wannabe?”
Barbie doll?
“Well, I’m certainly not going to tell her.” The second girl had a British accent.
“I might not tell her, but there’s nothing stopping me from posting a picture of them dancing on my Facebook page.” She giggled. “You know, by accident.”
A gasp was followed by a snicker. “You wouldn’t!”
The first girl spoke again, but her words were mangled, like she was applying lipstick. “Suzanne’s a bitch. Do you think I care if she finds out what Preston is up to?”
The door opened and a third person joined them.
“Well? What do you think?” the Brit asked.
“About what?” A different voice this time.
“Preston.”
Someone tsked. “I think he’s lost his mind, that’s what I think.”
“Did you see she has a tattoo on her shoulder? So tacky.”
“I bet she has a tramp stamp.”
They all laughed.
Fuck this! I tossed the tissue into the toilet and ran my hands over the front of my dress. The moment I flushed the toilet, the giggling stopped. I threw my shoulders back, unlocked the door, and stepped out. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten into a fight in a ladies’ room.
Three sets of eyes widened at my reflection as I stepped out behind them. One of the girls, a brunette, had been so startled by my sudden appearance, she dragged her lipstick outside of her lip line causing a blood-red smear.
“Hello, ladies.” Ignoring the thrum of my pulse beating in my ears, I turned on the faucet, and even though I hadn’t used the bathroom, I washed my hands. No reason for the gossips to think I didn’t wash my hands after peeing. The three women shuffled closer to one another, as if they were afraid I might bite. Smart move. I dried my hands on a linen towel and dropped it into a basket on the counter.
With a hand parked on my hip, I hoped to display a confidence I didn’t feel. “I couldn’t help overhearing your little gossip fest. While I have every right to be as big a bitch as you three, I’ll pass. Being rude and intolerant doesn’t come as easy for me as it may for you. But let me say this: I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. No matter what happens between me and Preston, I’d like it to stay that way.” I took a few steps past them, but then turned back. “And whoever made that crack about my tattoo, it’s in memory of my dad. So just shut your fucking mouth.”
Okay. So maybe I was a little rude, but they had it coming.
I didn’t have my purse, so I couldn’t tip the attendant. I mumbled an apology, and stepped into the hallway. Even the staff would be talking about me by the end of the night.
Instead of returning to the table, I walked in the other direction, past the men’s room, and around the corner. I slumped against the wall in the empty corridor, trying to talk myself into the strength and composure I needed to walk back into that room, especially now that I knew for certain what people were saying about me.
It shouldn’t have bothered me. I’d never been one to care about what people thought. My reputation was exaggerated, and in many cases, downright false. Usually, I didn’t let it bother me. But this time, I couldn’t help wondering if Preston might be thinking the same thing.
Footsteps echoed from around the corner. As they grew closer, I stepped further into the shadows, hoping whoever they belonged to would be searching for a restroom and not heading my way. I needed a few more minutes before I’d be able to plaster a smile on my face and pretend everything was fine.
A door opened. Two men were speaking in low tones until a familiar voice interrupted.
“Have either of you seen my date?” Preston asked.
“I’d ask how you’re doing, but judging by the Playmate of the Month I saw hanging off your arm, I’m going to say pretty bloody fantastic.”
Another man laughed. “And judging from the way your father has stationed himself at the bar, throwing back Macallan, I’m guessing you’re pushing all the old man’s buttons tonight.”
I recognized the low rumble of Preston’s chuckle. “Could be. No harm in shaking him up a bit.”
“So where did you find her, and are there any more like her at home?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
“What’s the deal with you and Suzanne?”
“There is no deal. I just needed a break.”
Someone snickered. “Hey, if I could find a piece like that, I’d try to talk Leslie into a break too.”
They laughed. I couldn’t tell if Preston had laughed as well, but it still hurt.
“If you see Rain, will you let her know I’m looking for her?”
“Rain, huh? I’ll let her know as soon as she’s done screaming my name.”
More laughter. “If she sees you coming, she’ll be screaming all right.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Preston said. His voice was more playful than serious. “Just point her in my direction, and keep your hands to yourself.”
I waited until after the last footstep disappeared, and then I waited a few minutes more. By the time I returned to our table, the waiters were preparing to serve dessert.
Preston stood and pulled out my chair. The other men at the table stood as well. It was like being in a movie, only now I knew that when the cameras weren’t rolling, these clowns were just like every other guy I’d ever met. Rich or poor, they all thought with their dicks.
“Are you okay? You were gone for a long time.”
There was genuine concern in his eyes, which surprised me, given the conversation in the hallway a short time ago. As soon as I sat, he returned to his seat and slipped an arm around my shoulders.
“I’m fine. Seems I got a little lost there for a while. I won’t make that mistake again.”
His eyebrows
creased, but before he could respond, I picked up my evening bag. “On second thought, I’m getting a headache.” I rose and the men rose with me. I wanted to sit back down again, and then stand, to see if they did as well, but I wasn’t in the mood for games. Especially since I was the one being played.
“It was nice meeting you all,” I said to the couples seated around our table, then to Preston I added, “I’m going to call a cab and head home.”
He tossed his napkin onto the table. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll both go.”
I rested my hand against his chest. “Don’t be silly. Besides. I think your break is about over.” I took the shortest route, which was right through the middle of the dance floor, my heels clacking angrily to the rhythm of the drums. I reached the exit just as Preston’s hand curled around my arm.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
I tried to shake him off, but he wasn’t having it. “I want to go home. This was a huge mistake.”
He led me to the coat check and handed the attendant our tickets. Clearly I hadn’t thought this through. Had he let me go, I would’ve stormed out without my mother’s good coat, and I sure as hell was never coming back here. After the girl handed us our coats, Preston stuffed a five into the brandy snifter on the counter.
I stuck out my hand. “Give me five dollars.” He didn’t ask why, he just ruffled through the bills in his wallet.
“I don’t have another five. What do you need it for?”
“What do you have?”
He opened his wallet wider, and when I saw a fifty, I grabbed it.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. And he didn’t follow. Probably because he knew there was no other way for me to leave. I slipped into the ladies’ room, handed the bill to the attendant, and left before she could answer. At least one person might have something nice to say about me.
On the drive home, neither of us spoke for the longest time. I stared out my window. Angry and embarrassed, I also felt like I’d let him down.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said after a while. “I should have been more specific.”
So it wasn’t just me—he was also embarrassed.
