After a swipe at her eyes with her hand, Liz buried herself behind the plastic menu.
The waitress, gum snapping, asked, “What will it be?”
John looked over his menu to Liz. “Anything? Pie, coffee? Burger?”
“No food,” Liz said softly. “A cup of coffee . . . no, tea if you have it, please.”
The waitress stabbed her pad with her pencil and turned to John, smiles and warmth she had not offered to Liz pulsing from her. “And you, sir?”
He looked up at her and gifted her with a smile, the one he practiced on women from Maine to Louisiana with great results. “Apple pie and coffee, darlin’.”
His charm worked once again. The woman preened and after a quick adjustment to her tight uniform skirt, wiggled away to fill the order.
“Do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Have that effect on women.”
“Apparently.” He kept a straight face, though it was difficult. “It doesn’t always work, though. It hasn’t worked on you.”
Liz laughed, a good low sound that went straight to his most reactive parts. Could she be jealous?
“Never mind the waitress. Tell me about the letter. Or better yet, start at the beginning of the story so I know how it concerns you.”
The waitress set a small teapot in front of Liz, along with a cup. She arranged the coffee and pie in front of John with great lingering care. He smiled, this time turning down the wattage and with a disappointed frown, the woman left.
“You have women fawning over you wherever you go, don’t you?” Liz shook with laughter.
“Sometimes it has its advantages, sometimes it’s just a pain in the butt. But . . . continue with your story.” He smiled around the rim of the coffee cup. Liz’s reaction warmed him more than the drink.
“Okay. Remember that last awful day?”
He smiled then sobered, saying in a low, sexy voice, “Parts of it.”
Liz blushed, but resumed her tale. “Yeah, well, I’d gotten a letter forwarded by my lawyer in California regarding my ex?”
John nodded, still hesitant to sip his drink.
“I was upset because my ex had had another child and named him after our son.”
“That was cruel. You said your son had died.”
Liz breathed back tears before continuing. “What I didn’t tell you was that my husband blamed me for it.”
John put down the cup, nestling it in the little depression of the saucer carefully, thinking of what to say. “How could he?”
Liz fiddled with the used teabag. “I believe with all my heart the baby died from SIDS. I didn’t kill him and he was perfectly healthy. But SIDS strikes for no apparent reason . . . I read a great deal about it. But I was home with the baby when it happened. I thought my husband had come home early to play with him, maybe be with us, you know, do some family things I’d wanted us to do together.”
“If you don’t mind me sayin’, this guy sounds like a real jerk-off.” John reached out to tap her hand, urging her to keep going.
“We’d argued the night before about that. He was never home. He had no time for the baby or me, for that matter, because he was making money to support us, he said. Working night and day, it seemed. I never really knew what his job was because he worked for his father in the family business. He did come home that night, though, and I thought I’d gotten through to him. He was the one who found Jesse. Keith went in to check on the baby. And came out shouting. He was out of control, shouting to call 911, which I did.”
“What happened?” John focused on Liz, only Liz as she spoke.
“The baby didn’t move. He just lay there. Not breathing.” Her voice caught while her eyes filled with tears. She wiped her hand across them.
“I couldn’t wake him up. I tried mouth to mouth, but it didn’t work. When the firemen came, they tried, but it was too late. Jesse was dead.”
He felt pressure in his lungs and tried to shake away the deep sense of loss he felt for Liz and her child.
“Long story short, my husband, my dear husband, turned around and accused me of smothering the baby.”
His hand fisting, John tried to understand what this meant to his companion. “There was a trial?”
Liz played with the tab on the teabag, not looking at John. “No, not a real one. It would never have come to that. No publicity to ruin the family name! The family doctor took care of me by keeping me so heavily sedated I missed my own child’s funeral. There was talk of putting me away—you know, in a nut house—but the family and the doctor just kept me heavily medicated, alone in my room. All I really remember was agreeing to a divorce.
“My baby was dead . . . my sweet baby boy. In the end, I was to be provided for, but divorced. And my ex husband wasted no time at all remarrying and starting all over again.”
“How long ago did all this happen?”
“Two years, give or take a few months.” Liz closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers over her forehead.”
John could almost feel her pain. He spoke softly now, hoping to calm her. “So the letter—what gives?”
“He has decided to go to court to stop paying me alimony. Because I left the state, he feels he can cut me off. That’s fine, I don’t need his money. I have a trust fund of my own he never got. And then there’s the soup bar and all, so I’m okay without his money. But this is really pretty low.”
She didn’t cry. Her emotions must have been spent, he figured, to tell him this so calmly. He knew, however, that if her ex were in Jersey somewhere, he personally would pay him a little visit. “Is that all of it?”
Liz cleared her throat.
“There is something else. I’ve never seen Jesse’s grave. Never even saw his body after the doctor took him from my arms. I’ve hired a detective to locate it, but so far he’s been unable to get on the family estate. That’s where my baby is buried.”
“Are you going to fight this thing?”
She pursed her lips, thinking it over. “I just might. He owes me something.”
John knew she meant what she said. That bastard didn’t stand a chance. Not this time.
He felt the corner of his mouth go up in only half a smile because he applauded Liz’s attitude but couldn’t think of a way to say it. Determined silence enveloped them as they sipped their hot drinks. When John finally met her eyes, he saw more in them than he expected. He could never claim to be able to read more than “yes” on a woman’s face; what he saw in Liz went beyond the usual.
She wanted him. She wanted to lose herself in him.
Now.
Reaching across the table, he covered her hands with his and pulled her arms toward him. Why did Liz bring out these feelings of protectiveness when no other woman ever had? Why did he suddenly know how he had to react, and know that bedding her was not the right response even when she silently begged for it?
She didn’t need him. Not that way.
Not now.
Liz studied John as she sipped her tea. His dark hair curled over the collar of his shirt and that one lock fell over his forehead just like Superman’s. No wrinkles in his forehead anymore, but they’d been there the whole time she’d told her story.
Those bruises! He needed a shave. He always looked as if he could make inroads with a blade, but she’d never seen him without the shadow. It gave him a tired yet wary look that only left when he flashed his killer smile.
What was it with him? He could be such an arrogant jackass one minute then turn around and be so kind. How did the kid put up with her father’s moodiness without wanting to pick up and leave?
She knew she shouldn’t judge. He’d listened to her tonight and offered comfort when she really needed it. She owed him.
Despite what she’d said to him after that infamous morning, she couldn’t forget their night together. Maybe he could. Maybe it wasn’t that memorable.
She could stand being with him tonight. She wouldn’t mind feeling those strong arms arou
nd her again. His warm body could do wonders for the chill in her heart.
One more time.
It wasn’t as if she could get addicted to him.
Nobody was that good.
Nobody but John Preshin. Bourbon John.
Chapter 28
On the drive back to Asbury Park, Liz nearly fell off the seat when John asked whether she’d like to go to the movies with him the next night.
“Nothing special,” he added, “but a buddy of mine offers a film course at the community college. He’s managed to obtain an original print of Casablanca, he said, with the second ending.”
“Second ending?” She liked movies, but had never heard anything about another ending to Casablanca.
“Oh, ho!” John laughed with such wickedness she turned to face him directly. “This is great. Evidently, two different endings to the movie were shot. The one they kept is the one you’ve seen for years. But there was a second ending, one that was completely different. Happily ever after. I’ve never heard of anybody ever actually seeing the second version. I don’t know how this friend got hold of it, but he says it’s worth seeing.”
“I don’t know,” she hesitated. Would this be a date? Is he asking me on a date?
The charm turned on. She could actually feel him turn up the heat of his smile on her. Is this how it affected other women? Hmm. Did she dare ?
“Sure.”
She watched him, watched his expression very carefully to see whether he really hadn’t wanted her to say yes. The smile heated up a notch.
“Great! I’ll be out most of the day, but the show starts at seven and it will take about an hour to get there that time of day. So, can you be ready by six?”
Why not?
“Sure,” she replied.
“It’ll be fun,” he assured her as they pulled up to the curb alongside the luncheonette.
As soon as she got into her room, avoiding John’s courteous offer of seeing her in for fear he might try to kiss her, giddiness overtook her already frazzled emotions.
“Get hold of yourself,” she whispered as she readied herself for bed. It was just a movie. Not a real date, not really. Or was it? Off the cuff. Spur of the moment more or less. He was going, asked her to join him. Was that a date?
Oh God, what would she wear?
“That was the funniest, the absolute funniest thing I have ever seen.” Liz wiped tears from her eyes, laughing again to the point where she could barely breathe.
John appeared to be having trouble breathing and walking as well. Between guffaws that rocked him, he staggered, his arm draped casually over Liz’s shoulders, back to the Jeep.
Her sides hurt.
“I hope that student got an A for that film.”
John stopped and clutched his sides. “If he didn’t, it will be a loss to the world. I’ve seen worse parodies, but using vegetables,” here he stopped and laughed so loud it echoed across the parking lot between the brick buildings, “especially Bogart as celery! Oh, man. What a warped sense of humor. I’d love to meet this kid.”
“Whoever he is, he’s a genius. Wait,” she held out her hand. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”
John sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes focused on her, scanning her face so intently she blushed.
“What? Is something wrong?” Something about the seriousness of his expression alarmed her.
He started up the engine. “Nah. It’s just good to see you smile for a change.”
Brought back to the previous night, Liz sobered, then the memory of the elegant eggplant that portrayed the Ingrid Bergman role made her giggle. “I can’t stop laughing now.”
“Good. What say we stop off at the diner for some dessert? That pie last night was tasty.”
“Are you always hungry? Practically every time I see you, you’re eating.”
He switched on the charm thing again. Liz felt heat rush up her chest.
“What can I say, I’m a growing boy. It’s on the way, and it’s early enough. What do you say?”
Liz settled back in the seat. “Sure, why not? I think I’ve laughed enough to deserve some pie myself.”
Sporadic laughter punctuated the short drive to the diner.
John pulled into a parking slot and shut off the engine. He didn’t get out, instead he turned and looked at her. It made her uneasy. Did she look awful? Her hand reached up to her hair, feeling the curls that had escaped the clip she’d used to pull them back from her face.
In a soft, seductively low voice, John said, “Don’t worry. You’re beautiful. Even more so when you laugh.”
She spun around in her seat so fast she got a stitch in her side. “What did you say?”
He chuckled. “I give the woman a compliment and she doesn’t hear me. Or do you want me to say it again? Okay. You’re beautiful, Liz. And when you laugh, the frown lines disappear and you’re even more beautiful.”
“Uh. Oh.” The blush started rising on her neck. Good thing is was dark in the parking lot. “I . . . well, thank you, John.”
He didn’t laugh at her awkward response, instead he left the Jeep and opened the door for her, then, with his hand on her back, he guided her safely inside the diner.
Rather than waiting to be seated, John led her to the booth they’d shared the previous evening. Liz noticed a different waitress from last night push her way from the counter in an obvious hurry to get to their table. Was that a look of barely disguised fury on the waitress’s face?
Flipping the heavy menus in front of them, the waitress kept her eyes on John, while he didn’t even look up at her. Liz sensed there was something going on behind the other woman’s watery blue eyes that gave her the distinct impression that the waitress knew John.
He looked over the menu and asked Liz if she’d like some breakfast. Pancakes? French toast? All the while, the waitress tapped her pen against her pad.
John remained oblivious to the woman’s pique.
“What will it be?”
Again John asked Liz, “Something special? Sandwich? Salad? Pie?”
“I’ll have some rice pudding. And tea with lemon, please.”
The gum snapped. Liz could feel the tension even if John didn’t.
The waitress marked her pad then turned to John. “You?”
He looked up at her and gifted her with a smile, the one he always used on waitresses with great results. “Apple pie and coffee . . . make that a la mode, please, darlin’.”
Through slitted eyelids, the waitress stared at him. “Darlin’?”
He grimaced ever so slightly. “Oh, no, please. I forget sometimes. That’s no longer politically correct, isn’t it? Well, I can’t read your nametag from the little froufrou on your handkerchief, miss. Sorry. I’d still like the pie a la mode, though.”
That heart melting smile upped in intensity, apparently to no effect because the woman spun on her heel and strutted away, muttering as she went.
Liz stared after her, sheer astonishment at what she’d just witnessed bringing on more laughter. “What was that all about?”
John reached for a sugar packet to play with. “Dunno.”
“Old friend?” Curiosity bubbled in her chest. This byplay was almost as funny as cabbage gendarmes.
“Damned if I know,” he shot back, although it appeared to Liz that he was giving the matter some consideration from the furrow in his brow. “I haven’t been here in weeks before last night with you. Maybe she waited on me before, but I can’t place her.”
Liz looked over to where the woman behind the counter shot coffee into a cup. Her hands shook as she flipped the spout shut.
“I hope she doesn’t pour that coffee in your lap, John.”
“Uh, oh,” he whispered. “Here she comes.”
Liz got her pudding and her tea with the bag still in the cup. The waitress set John’s drink in front of him with such a crack Liz thought she’d break the saucer. A customer at the counter called the woman away and she left.
Jo
hn’s pie would apparently have to wait.
“The woman is upset with you, John,” Liz ventured.
He picked up the cup. “All women eventually get upset with me, Liz. I’m growing used to it. Wow,” he added. “This is boiling hot.”
Shifting in her seat, Liz thought back to a scene in the movie and laughed a little. “I have to thank you for taking me with you tonight. I honestly can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard, John.”
His sensuous lips curled in a tight smile. “I’m glad. You really should smile more often.”
Before Liz could respond, he broke eye contact with her and looked at the waitress who stood behind the counter. The look goaded the other woman into action.
She wondered whether John noticed the woman’s lower lip, how if it stuck out any further, she’d need to Botox the other one, just to even things out, but she kept the thought to herself.
The waitress jerked up her head then unhurriedly went to the plastic pie safe and cut the prescribed size slice, plated it and walked hip-swingingly slowly to their table, her eyes, Liz noted, were still slitted and fixed on John.
Finally she spoke. “I’ve been waitin’, Bourbon John. All this while for you to remember me.”
How she managed to say this through teeth clamped so tightly made Liz marvel. At least she now knew why they’d been given such cold treatment.
Liz leaned back against the booth and watched them both, hoping against hope the inevitable face slap would not happen, for John’s sake.
John looked up slowly before fastening his gaze on the woman. Liz hid her smile behind her hand.
“I’m sorry . . . miss. I haven’t been here in awhile. Did you wait on me?”
His face was too blank to be faked. Liz knew he had absolutely no idea who this woman was. It seemed to be a common occurrence with him.
The telltale flush spread up the other woman’s face. Liz felt the sparks shooting off her, but John remained clueless. Oh, oh, here it comes!
“We spent the night together. We boinked like rabbits and you fell asleep, but you said, ‘good night, Terry’ to me.”
Glory Days Page 21
