After Darke

by Heather MacAllister

  Competitors Comingle

  Rumblings from the Charity Circuit

  With a possible split rumored between two titans of tithing, the question arises: Who gets custody of the contribution? Who ponies up payment for the pledge? What does it matter as long as the charity gets the money in the end, you ask?

  If you do, indeed, ask, you are obviously one of that rowdy bunch consuming beer and pretzels at the twenty-five-dollars-and-under contributors’ party. No, folks, we’re talking serious giving here, which we all (except you with the warm beer in the plastic cup) know means buying. And what’s for sale is no less than social position for the following year.

  Now we have the hypothetical situation of Mrs. D. (I meant D for Dynasty—who did you think?) Mrs. D loves the ballet. Mr. and Mrs. D have underwritten the Spring Ballet Ball for a decade. But alas, only diamonds are forever. Enter Mrs. C (for Competitor—

  so there will be no misunderstanding and unsubstantiated rumors resulting in boring legal threats.) Mrs. C also likes the ballet. Because of her influence, Mr. D continues his support for the Spring Ballet Ball. Mrs. C achieves a spot on the top rung of the social ladder next to Mrs. D, who wishes she could push her off.

  And she might. Mr. D pledged support on their behalf. But he already made a contribution with Mrs. C. Should the ballet call in the pledge or give credit for monies received? At stake is nothing less than quality of life....

  The rest of the column dealt with the fight over whose contribution should get credit—the one with Mrs. C or Mrs. D—and how that credit affected restaurant “A” lists and seats at fashion shows. And of course it was noted how worthy these people were to be mentioned in Jaron’s column.

  Like Bonnie cared at all. Oh, she appreciated the subtle sarcasm, but people like Jaron, who clearly felt he was superior to the rest of his world, made her nervous.

  She looked down at her nails. A manicure couldn’t hurt.

  * * *

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Bonnie did not have her manicure and facial, but she did find three wonderfully carved porcelain toilets in superb condition, so no matter how her evening with Jaron turned out, the day wouldn’t be a total loss. Working out the shipping details took longer than she’d planned, but she took extra time with her appearance—and wore her one and only black dress—to make up for missing the beauty treatments.

  She finished dressing in enough time to scan the magazines in search of possible conversation topics. She also read two more of Jaron’s columns. One featured a commentary about a minor local political race, and the next was a follow-up containing blistering correspondence from the two politicians, protesting his column. Bonnie winced at how thoroughly Jaron skewered them in his rebuttal, even as she secretly admired his audacity.

  She also had a horrible feeling she was about to become material for his column.

  “Bonnie?” Cokie had arisen from her evening nap. She was off to play bridge tonight. “You’re ready?”

  Bonnie checked her watch. “It’s after seven. You said dinner, right?”

  “But it’s only seven!”

  “I guess I never nailed down the details, but he mentioned a drive through the city, so I assumed we’d be leaving around this time.” Bonnie’s stomach certainly wanted to leave around this time.

  “Jaron wouldn’t insult you by calling for you so early.”

  “I want to be insulted. I’m hungry.”

  Cokie headed for the kitchen. “Let me get you some bouillon and crackers.”

  Bonnie was way beyond bouillon and crackers. She followed her aunt into the compact kitchen. “I read Jaron’s columns.”

  “Isn’t he marvelous?” Cokie enthused, ladling out soup from the pot on the stove.

  “He’s sarcastic and snobby.”

  “He has a sophisticated wit.”

  Right. “I’m not sure about tonight, Aunt Cokie.”

  “Because of his column?” Cokie laughed. “Don’t mistake his column persona for who he really is. He’s actually quite charming.”

  “Sophisticated and witty.”

  Smiling, Cokie handed her a cup of chicken bouillon. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  JARON WAS INTRIGUED by the thought of a date with a plumber, he had to admit. In spite of the Blue Hawaii restaurant discovery—now called simply Hawaii—and the horrible PEN play, life had seemed stale lately.

  So he was mentally in a charitable mood as he greeted the doorman and made his way up the stairs to Cokie’s apartment. He was taking the plumber to a tiny family-owned restaurant in Little Italy. Everyone liked Italian food. It was a safe choice and might become his latest discovery.

  Yes, the evening was looking up.

  * * *

  IN SPITE OF COKIE’S assurances that the column Jaron was nothing like the real Jaron, the instant Bonnie saw him at the door of her aunt’s apartment, she knew the date was going to be a disaster. She didn’t normally judge people so strongly on appearance, but this Jaron Darke looked exactly like his photo in the paper. He was wearing a black, silk-knit T-shirt underneath a black suit. His equally black hair wasn’t cut short, as she’d thought from the picture, but was combed back from his forehead. He was sporting the same thick goatee. Worst of all, he wore rimless sunglasses. At night.

  Pretentious, pretentious, pretentious.

  She stood in the open doorway and stared at the black glass covering his eyes. She didn’t need to actually see his eyes to know that he’d given her a dismissing once-over.

  “Hello.” He smiled—maybe it was closer to a smirk. “I’m Jaron and...you’re Bonnie.”

  He spoke as though she were unpleasant medicine he had to take. It made Bonnie grit her teeth. Already. “Good guess.” She stood aside so he could come in.

  “Not a guess—who else could you be?” As he spoke, his gaze swept the interior of Cokie’s apartment in a way that further irritated Bonnie, even though it wasn’t her apartment.

  “Since I don’t have my name and picture plastered in the paper on a daily basis, I suppose I could be anyone.” She retrieved her purse from the love seat by the mock fireplace.

  He smiled, ignoring her snippy comment. “You’ve read my column.”

  “A few this week.” Bonnie resisted the opportunity to say something derogatory. Anyway, his columns weren’t bad—for what they were.

  “Public recognition can be tiresome at times.”

  Though he sounded bored, Bonnie bet that Jaron loved every minute of it. “Oh, I get that all the time. Parties are the worst. People come up to you and want to discuss their running toilets. You know what I mean?”

  He stopped studying the molded cornice and gazed down at her. She wished like anything she could see his eyes.

  Then, very slowly, he unhooked the wires from around his ears and removed the sunglasses.

  She almost wished he’d left them on. Obsidian eyes examined her with...interest? Bonnie wasn’t sure she wanted to capture Jaron Darke’s interest. What would she do with it?

  And yet deep within her, something responded to the way he now gave her his full attention. Something...growled.

  A smile touched the corner of his mouth and he gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “JUST A MINUTE, you two!” Cokie DeGrace intercepted them.

  And none too soon, Jaron thought. He couldn’t believe Cokie intended to let her niece out on the streets in that getup.

  He made his living by forcing people to confront their prejudices and pretensions, and he prided himself on not falling victim to the same. But there were limits, and he was only human. Prejudices came about because of the unpleasant fact that there was a tiny kernel of truth buried in each one. And the truth here was that this Bonnie Cooper fit every cliché he’d imagined.

 
; He’d been taken aback when she’d opened the door. Yes, he’d made disparaging country bumpkin comments about her to his mother, but he hadn’t been serious. Massachusetts was hardly the Midwest. In fact, he’d briefly considered the possibility that Cokie and his mother had been playing a joke on him. Thank God he hadn’t said anything.

  Her dress wasn’t just out of style—it had no style to be out of. She might have a figure, but who could tell under that sack? The sack was encircled by a tiny string belt that did nothing to enhance the shape of the dress. And her shoes—walking shoes. Walking shoes. At night. Didn’t she trust him to hire a car?

  Topping off Bonnie’s appearance was nondescript makeup and hair, which Jaron suspected she cut herself one-handed while holding a tiny mirror. He sent a reproachful look toward Cokie.

  Yes, he was early for a dinner date, but he’d thought Bonnie might like a drive around the city at night before they ate. He had said drive, hadn’t he?

  “Jaron!” Cokie tittered, and Jaron looked at her with alarm. “Naughty, naughty! Trying to steal my niece away without saying goodbye?”

  Jaron inadvertently glanced over at Bonnie and saw that her expression was one of horror. Good. She, too, realized an alien was inhabiting Cokie’s body. One thing on which they could both agree.

  “Cokie, there was no stealing involved here.” Jaron kissed her cheek in greeting.

  “But I bet you’d like to!” She tittered again.

  Prepared this time, Jaron maintained a fixed expression.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “Lorenzo’s in Little Italy.”

  “I don’t know that restaurant.”

  Jaron smiled. “You will.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be another of your—” Cokie gasped. “Bonnie, what have you got on your feet!”

  They all looked at Bonnie’s shoes. Bonnie sighed heavily. “Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

  “This is New York,” Cokie said. “Everyone notices.”

  Hear, hear, Jaron thought.

  “Too bad. I did a lot of walking today and I can’t get into my dress shoes.” She shrugged at Jaron. “You’ll have to take me as I am. Or if Aunt Cokie has some gold spray paint, I could—”

  “Oh, it’ll be fine,” Cokie said before Jaron could. “Jaron will probably turn sneakers at night into the latest trend!”

  “There’s a thought,” Jaron murmured.

  “In that case, I should add some sequins. Or beads. Designer laces at the very minimum.” Bonnie met his eyes with complete guilelessness.

  This one would take some watching. In spite of an unfortunate first impression, it appeared that the plumber had a few kinks in her pipes, kinks he might find interesting to, ah, plumb.

  “Bonnie, you don’t want to draw attention. It’s just that you’ll be with Jaron and he is fairly well-known, so—”

  “So I’ve elected to take Bonnie to an out-of-the-way family-owned restaurant I’ve heard some good things about,” Jaron interjected. “I hope you like Italian, Bonnie.”

  “Everyone likes Italian, Jaron. Now, you’re sure your reputation won’t suffer from being seen with me in these shoes?”

  Jaron was ready to burn the shoes. “I believe my reputation can withstand a couple of crepe soles, Bonnie.” He smiled, revealing his teeth. They were gritted.

  She gritted right back. “How fortunate for me, Jaron.”

  The evening had not begun well, and Jaron was at a loss to pinpoint exactly where it had started to go wrong. No doubt at the moment either his mother or Cokie got the idea to pair up the two of them. What had they been thinking? In an instant, both he and Bonnie had realized they were mismatched.

  At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was hiding the realization better than Bonnie was.

  Cokie shooed them toward the door. “Oh, go on, you two. I’m on my way to bridge.”

  “May I drop you somewhere?” Jaron offered.

  “You’re a dear, but it’s in the building.”

  “Goodbye, Aunt Cokie.” Bonnie leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Jaron opened the door vowing to be a pleasant, entertaining—not overwhelming or patronizing—companion for the evening. The effort ought to be good for mega karma points.

  * * *

  WITH BOTH HER AUNT and his mother vouching for him, Jaron Darke must have some redeeming qualities, Bonnie thought as she stepped past the drive and climbed into the back seat of the black Lincoln Town Car. It was her mission to find them this evening.

  It wasn’t like her to react so negatively on first appearances. But there he was, all in black, Mr. Single-and-jaded-in-New-York. She knew the type. She didn’t like the type.

  She could tell that he wasn’t impressed with her, either. And what had gotten into Cokie?

  Well, Bonnie would offer the olive branch. After all, they were civilized adults; they could have a civilized evening. “It’s very kind of you to take me out this evening. I can tell from reading your columns that you must work most nights.”

  “I do.” Jaron lounged against the padded leather car seat in a way that told Bonnie he’d done it a hundred times before. “In fact, I’m working, if you will, tonight. I’ve wanted to try this restaurant, so you’re actually helping me. We can order a wider variety of dishes.”

  Okay. Not too bad. A little patronizing if she wanted to get picky, but maybe they’d make it through the evening without inflicting bodily harm on each other, after all. Bonnie relaxed slightly.

  Time to lob the conversational ball. “Do you often review restaurants?” She knew how to cook; this should be a safe topic.

  “’Review’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

  And that took the conversation right into the net. Bonnie would serve again. Maybe right at him. “What word would you use?”

  “Among other things, I occasionally comment on exceptional meals.”

  “‘Comment’ meaning you write about the food.”

  “Yes.”

  “‘Exceptional’ meaning either good or bad.”

  “Precisely.” He’d left off his sunglasses—presumably due to the car’s tinted glass—and Bonnie could see his eyes swivel her way, a hint of amusement in their dark depths.

  What was so funny? She hated it when people acted as though they knew a joke and she didn’t. “Isn’t commenting on meals what a restaurant reviewer does?”

  He shook his head and went back to scanning the ever-changing scene outside the car windows for who-knew-what. “A reviewer would go into much more detail about the food and the chef as well as tag the entire piece with cutesy dollar signs indicating the cost. I’m concerned with the total experience as well as who’s doing the experiencing.”

  The total experience. Just the way he spoke grated on Bonnie, but there was no reason why it should.

  Jaron leaned forward and said something to the driver, who immediately changed lanes with a typical New Yorker’s disregard for vehicles behind him.

  Reminding herself that she didn’t know Jaron, but both Cokie and Nora liked him, Bonnie vowed to stop attributing hidden meaning into everything he said. She was reacting to a few columns and the goatee and sunglasses. And he had agreed to take her out, meaning he was considerate of little old ladies. Bonnie smiled to herself at the thought of either Cokie’s or Nora’s reaction to being thought of as “little old ladies.”

  “You find that amusing?”

  “Find what amusing?” Why couldn’t he have just said, “What’s so funny?”

  “My comment.”

  “About the total experience?”

  “That was what we’d been discussing.”

  “Oh.” Bonnie mentally backtracked. “No. I didn’t find that funny.”

  “Good. It wasn’t meant
to be. Except for the remark about the dollar signs. I had hopes for that.”

  Bonnie smiled politely. “I kind of like the little dollar signs.”

  Your kind would. Jaron didn’t say that aloud, but he didn’t have to. Bonnie could hear him think it.

  “I guess they do have their uses, though it always seems that one person’s dollar is another’s twenty.” Jaron’s smile was a twin of hers. In other words, all for show.

  Silence fell. They both turned to look out their respective windows. Bonnie shifted on the leather, very aware of the stilted conversation and the awkward gaps. Perhaps that was why, when Jaron pointed out that they were approaching Times Square, which she’d seen on every single trip to New York, Bonnie reacted with more enthusiasm than the blinking sign deserved.

  “Oh, wow. It looks just like it does on television!” She craned her neck to see out the windows.

  There was more stiff silence, then Jaron observed, “Seen it before, have you?” When Bonnie looked over at him, he was rubbing his temple. He gave her a tight smile.

  Caught. “I come to New York a couple of times a year,” she admitted.

  “Well, you know, Bonnie, I live here and I don’t know whether it’s the lights or the theater marquees or the people, but I never get tired of seeing a revitalized Times Square at night.”

  Bonnie was embarrassed. What was the matter with her?

  He turned his head to look out the window again. “I love this city,” he said with quiet sincerity. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  Just for a moment, seeing his profile illuminated by the garish lights of Times Square, Bonnie thought there might actually be something behind the Jaron Darke persona, something that might make the man worth knowing—if she could dig it out.

  Maybe he was like the vintage fittings she bought—not much on the outside, but after a little buffing and tapping out of dents, they became things of beauty.

  Bonnie tried to visualize Jaron as a thing of beauty. Nope. Wasn’t happening. “If you like New York so much, then why do you write such nasty things about it?” she demanded.