“What luck,” Leo said. “A class reunion. Now all we need is the quarterback of the football team and the head cheerleader.”
I ignored him and tried to finish up the small talk with Ryan. The glow of seeing an old acquaintance was quickly wearing off, giving way to the old feelings that had made me break up with Ryan. He could be so pedantic and cloying . . . so literal. A perfect military automaton. “So . . . Ryan, are you stationed here, or just home on a visit?”
“I’m here on a holiday furlough. Usually I’m on a ship—the Ticonderoga, out of San Diego. I’ve got to report back on the twenty-sixth.”
“So you’ll be here for the annual Greenwood Christmas bash,” Leo chimed in. “I’m sure you’re invited. Madison’s mom is just throwing a few things together. A casual, drop-in black-tie thing.” He turned to me, adding, “I forgot—is it BYOB?”
“I think Mom has the drinks covered,” I said, reminding myself to give Leo a major noogie on the back of his thinning head the next time we were alone. Bad enough that he was inviting Ryan to the Christmas party. Did he have to make fun of Mom, too?
Ryan’s eyes were on me, as intense as ever, and I remembered a time back in high school when I’d asked him to stop staring. He had swallowed hard, tearfully, I think, and said something incredibly cornball like: “I’m just so much in love with you, it hurts.” Ugh! That had been the beginning of the end. I may not have been the most worldly teenager in Nob Hill, or Snob Hill, as my friends and I liked to demean the place, but I knew enough to run from raw emotion when I saw it.
“I think I’d like that,” Ryan said, all over me.
I had to take a swig of beer to protect myself from his total adulation. The guy was just too intense. When I’d chugged enough to make my toes relax, I took a breath and nodded at Ryan. “You’re always welcome,” I said. “It’s on Christmas Eve. Anytime after seven.”
“Great,” he said. At least, I think that was the word he used. His eyes transmitted a different message: Love me! Save me! Validate me!
I turned back to the bar and took a deep breath, hoping Ryan would take it as a sign of dismissal. But Leo undermined me, engaging Ryan in conversation. Leo teased Ryan that I must have been a real pain in the ass back in high school. Behind me, Ryan defended me vehemently, telling Leo that I was so beautiful. So beautiful? Who even says that anymore? And didn’t Ryan know that feminists didn’t want to be defined by their physical appearance?
“Hey, look at that! It’s our turn,” I said when a dartboard opened up. I moved away from Ryan, then turned back, to make sure he knew this was the end of our conversation. “You take care now, okay?”
He stepped forward, extended his hand, and pulled me close.
Oh, no! The kiss!
I turned my head so that he pecked the outer rim of my cheek, just in front of my ear. “I’ll see you on Christmas Eve,” he said.
“Okay, then . . .” I scooted toward the dartboard, trusting Leo to follow.
“Oh my God, he is so cute!” Leo exclaimed under his breath when we were a safe distance away from Ryan.
“Don’t get your bloomers all twisted,” I said, taking a practice shot. “Ryan is all facade. Underneath, there’s just a lot of cloying air.”
“I like pretty facades,” Leo insisted. “I can be very superficial, you know.”
“Bullshit. Besides, last time I checked, Ryan didn’t like boys.”
Leo tapped the tail of a dart against his chin and looked back toward Ryan. “Such a pity. If I can’t have him, the least you can do is scarf him up so that I can enjoy him vicariously. The man is an Adonis in ivory.”
I dared a look back at Ryan, who was now sitting on a barstool. Straight back, broad shoulders, tight butt. “Yeah, the Navy filled him out nicely,” I admitted. “And that costume... Vanilla GQ. But I’m not interested. He represents everything I’m not.”
Leo smiled. “For Vanilla, I’d be tempted to compromise. But tell me everything—dish the dirt. Did you at least have some fun together before you split? Was it a bad breakup?”
“The breakup was awkward,” I admitted. “My doing. Ryan was so intense in high school, so serious. When it came time to send out college applications, I had my sights set on Columbia or the University of Chicago. But Ryan was totally focused on getting into the Naval Academy at Annapolis. That floored me. I was seventeen years old, in the throes of a rebellion against my parents, dying to get away to an alternate lifestyle in college, and Ryan wanted to pledge to Old Glory and sign his life away to Uncle Sam.”
“A man with principles,” Leo said. “How refreshing.”
“Not for me. I found it stifling. He was diametrically opposed to everything I believed in. Once I realized that I had to end the relationship, I couldn’t wait to shake him loose.”
Leo threw a practice dart and narrowed his eyes. “But that was then, this is now and . . . wow! You must admit the boy grew up beautifully.”
I sighed. “Leo, he’s a Republican! In the service! Can you see me as a military wife? Living on base and crocheting quilts for the officer’s club bazaar while my man is out at sea in some undisclosed location—”
“Shades of An Officer and a Gentleman.” Leo pursed his lips. “Oh, if I close my eyes I can almost imagine Richard Gere coming through that door. He would sweep me into his arms, whisk me out of this honky-tonk bar and—”
“Leo, stop it now.”
He swatted the air in my direction. “Don’t stop me, I’m on a roll. He’d be wearing his dress whites, and I’d be looking forlorn in . . . let’s see, maybe washed-out jeans and a distressed muscle shirt. We’d—”
“Leo, you’ve never worn a muscle shirt in your life,” I said, leaning close to my friend. “And if you don’t snap out of the fantasy and start throwing darts, you’re going to lose your turn.”
“Oh.” He blinked and faced the dartboard. “Did I go off there?”
“A little.”
He shrugged, unwrapping a link from his muffler. “Well, if I’m sounding pushy it’s only because your love life is drier than the Sahara. I mean, did you ever fuck anyone in college?”
“I did!” I insisted. “And how about you?”
“Please! Can we not go there?” He pressed a hand to his chest, and one of the darts popped through his sweater. “Ouch!” He rubbed his chest. “Here I haven’t mentioned Jordan all day, and you have to throw salt on the wound.”
“Sorry,” I said, “but I thought you, of all people, would understand that I’ve been holding out for a relationship with an emotional component.”
With a stern grimace, Leo took aim and released the dart. It hit the board with a satisfying thwack, landing left of center.
“Oh, man, I thought you had a bull’s-eye,” I said.
Leo nodded sadly. “So did I.”
I slid an arm around his shoulder and gave him a hug. “Hey, at least you found someone, even if it was just for awhile. ‘Better to have loved and lost,’ right?”
He tilted his head. “Stop with the Hallmark one-oh-one and get me another coldie.”
I patted his shoulder. “There will be other men in your life, Leo. Gorgeous, smart men, just like you.”
For a second his satirical mask slipped away, and I saw a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. “Thanks, sis,” he said. “But don’t think kind words will distract me. It’s your turn to buy the beers.”
“I’m on it,” I said, digging into my coat pocket for loose bills. As I ordered the drinks, I felt a flicker of pride. The fact that I didn’t just fall into Ryan’s arms was a sign of my personal growth. Yes, I’d been going through a dry spell, but I’d stood my ground, confident and sure, willing to wait until I met the guy who could be Mr. Yang to my Yin.
Oh, who was I kidding? Right now I’d be willing to take a chance with Mr. Half-a-Yang if he had the right rap.
3
“I never thought I would spend the holidays hoisting pebbles,” Leo said. He let out a grunt as we lifted the
last bag of gold glass beads into the trunk of Dad’s Mercedes. Mom had arranged for us to pick up the beads and votive candleholders from a wholesale supplier that she’d gotten through her florist. The task had sounded simple when she’d described it that morning. Who knew that the glass beads would come in twenty-pound sacks, and that she required nearly twenty cartons of candles to be sure that the downstairs of the house would glow with golden light?
“They’re not pebbles,” I said. “They’re glass beads.”
“And the backseat of the car is full of cardboard cartons.” Leo brushed off his hands. “If this is what we have to go through for candles, I’d hate to see what we’re doing for food. Maybe she’ll ask us to woo a bull to roast on an open spit? Or maybe we need to go down to the bay and wrangle an octopus for fresh squid.”
I slammed the trunk closed. “The food is catered.”
“Thank God.”
“By one of the toniest caterers in San Francisco. Kasami Catering. I used to have such a crush on the owner’s son.”
“If he’s anything like your other ex-boyfriend, Ryan, let me at him!” Leo teased.
“Oh, Greg Kasami was not a boyfriend,” I admitted as we climbed into the Mercedes. “He was the elusive one, the untamable boy every girl wanted to tame.” I thought of how I’d gotten close to him one night—my arms around his waist, my legs straddled behind his on his minibike. I was only fourteen then, and I think he was barely sixteen—certainly not old enough to be driving on the streets—but no one questioned his mastery of the bike as it screamed up hills and buzzed around curved streets.
That day ... It had seemed sort of magical that Greg had spotted me in the crowd, let alone taken the time to offer me a ride. I’d been on my way home on an electric bus that rode off the wires and stalled, dumping all the passengers at a bus stop in North Beach. For some reason I wasn’t with my friends, and I couldn’t reach Mom on the phone to pick me up. So I ended up milling around, listening in on other peoples’ plans to get home.
And there came Greg, a blast of blue jeans and black leather and gleaming white helmet. His bike shrieked as he rolled up beside me on the sidewalk and flicked his visor up. “Want a ride?” he’d asked, as if it were a daily occurrence. In seconds I was climbing on behind him, tucking my hair into my sweater, holding on to the smooth leather around his waist. How I wanted that ride to stretch on down an infinite road! I think I was lost in a fantasy of being Greg’s girl when he pulled up in front of my house.
“Okay, this is it,” he announced, as if he were a tour guide or a train conductor.
I held on for a moment, unable to let go. I remember inviting him in, trying to stretch out the moment. But he’d just pried my fingers off and nodded toward the steep walkway leading up to the house.
I stepped off, and with a roar, he was gone.
“Every high school has one of those,” Leo said. “The bad boy we love to hate.” He checked his watch, then stretched back as much as the seat would allow with dozens of crates behind him. “Home, James,” he said. “I’ve got someplace to be this afternoon.”
“Your Aunt Sophie?” I knew that Leo had been trying to get in touch with a distant relative who lived in Berkeley.
He nodded. “She’s not really an aunt, but she feels closer than my father’s real sisters.” Boxes shifted as we pushed up a hill. “God, I hope her new husband isn’t a jerk.” He reached over to grab a box as it slid back over the console. “What exactly are these candles and rocks for?”
“Mom will show us. She always has great decorating ideas.”
“Something to look forward to,” he muttered. “I hope Martha Stewart is willing to put off arts and crafts class until another day.”
“You are such a snob,” I told him.
He crossed his legs and let out a contented sigh. “I try. I really try.”
At the house, Leo and I propped open the side door and started loading our candleholder cargo into the mudroom. We had almost emptied the trunk when the kitchen door swung open and Mom peered out, lifting her reading glasses to her red hair.
“There you are!” she said. “Good, good! Come into the kitchen as soon as you’re finished. We’re having a tasting, and I’d love your opinion.” The door swung closed behind her as Leo dropped a heavy bag onto the tiles.
“A few savory scraps for the slave laborers?” he said.
I laughed. “You must have been a holy terror for Nancy and Jack.” I lined up a stack of boxes, then took the keys from my pocket. “Why don’t you go on in. Let me just close up the car, and I’ll join you.”
Leo smoothed the lapel of his leather jacket. “Am I dressed for a tasting?”
“Get your ass inside,” I muttered, running down the path.
By the time I got into the kitchen, Leo had undergone a major attitude adjustment. He sat at the kitchen table opposite Mom, loosely clutching a glass of white wine.
“Definitely with the sauce on the side,” he said as he and Mom nibbled cute little dumplings with chopsticks. “For some discerning palates, it might overpower the buttery essence of the lobster.”
Gentle cooking smells warmed the kitchen. “Smells delicious,” I said.
Mom gestured grandly toward the stove. “Madison, you remember Greg Kasami, don’t you?”
As I swung toward the open refrigerator, I had to make a conscious effort to keep my mouth closed. Greg Kasami was here, in my parents’ kitchen! What would the girls on the cheerleading squad say?
Oh, grow up, I told myself as I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. You’re finished with high school and college. Thank God!
The large stainless steel door swung closed, and a gorgeous man materialized. Shiny, jet-black hair. Smooth Asian face. Enormous smile. And his body . . . so tall and lean and graceful, like every girl’s fantasy of a ninja warrior.
I swallowed hard. Was this the rebel boy who had infuriated his father by driving that Kawasaki all over town?
“You were in school at the same time, weren’t you?” Mom asked, stabbing another dumpling.
“We were,” Greg said, dazzling me with his huge smile. Then he was all business again, crossing to the stovetop to stir a sauce.
Trying to ignore the shiver of excitement, I washed my hands then joined Mom and Leo at the table.
“Try this last lobster dumpling,” Mom ordered, dabbing at her apricot lips with a napkin. “I’m going to watch Greg stir the pot.”
Leo and I let our eyes follow her. Somehow, we all were mesmerized watching Greg stir the pot, his fingers strong and slender, his shoulders straight and regal. You’d think the three of us were watching Yo-Yo Ma perform a solo.
Leo kicked me under the table and mouthed: He’s gorgeous!
Trying to ignore the hormones bombarding my blood, I kicked him back and mouthed: He’s mine!
He crossed his arms. I saw him first.
I swallowed the last of the dumplings and smiled. He likes girls.
“Darn,” Leo said aloud, checking his watch. “I’d better go get changed. Auntie Sophie waits for no one.”
“We’ll save some of the sake for you,” Greg said.
“Sounds great.” Leo pushed away from the table and went over to the stove to check out the simmering sauces.
“Wait till they taste the spinach baskets filled with sea scallops,” Mom said, closing her eyes. “They are glorious.”
“But they don’t keep well,” Greg pointed out. “Maybe we should do them another time, since you said you had an appointment, too?”
Mom glanced up at the kitchen clock and pressed a hand to her cheek. “That’s right! I’m supposed to meet Emily at the club. Then I’ve got to pick up Dr. Greenwood at the airport.” For as long as I can remember Mom has called my father Dr. Greenwood, as if she were a secretary booking his surgeries.
“Mom, if you want, I can get Dad at the airport,” I volunteered.
“But then I’d have to cancel Emily, too, and I can’t do that to her.” She turne
d to Greg with a pout on her face. “I am so sorry! I truly thought we’d have more time for this today.”
“It’s not a problem,” Greg said, flashing her that sunny smile. “I’ll stop by another time before your party. But someone needs to taste the beef burgundy. It’s almost ready.”
All eyes turned to me.
“Sure, I’ll check it out,” I offered, wondering why my throat was suddenly so dry. I went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
Leo edged in beside me to grab his own bottle. “Enjoy the beef,” he told me with a cagey look.
Slamming the fridge shut, I tried to hide my grin as Leo disappeared up the back stairs. How had I landed in this situation, playing hostess to Greg? It seemed ludicrous that I was suddenly the recipient of Greg’s culinary ministrations when just a few months ago I was picking through the vat of scrambled eggs at the school dining hall. Even more bizarre that I’d have the rest of the afternoon alone in the house with the Tall, Dark and Dangerous Bad Boy of high school. The possibilities made my limbs tingle; and yet, considering my lack of appeal for men over the past few years, I wasn’t expecting much.
Mom gave Greg a few more instructions, then headed up the back stairs to change, leaving me to feel awkward with Greg Kasami in command of my parents’ kitchen. A white dishtowel was tucked into a belt loop of his black jeans, and his black mock turtleneck looked spotless, despite the fact that he had been cooking and was now slicing carrots into perfect julienne strips.
“I brought along a nice Cab that you may want to serve with the beef,” Greg said, darting me a glance without lifting his head. “That bottle of B and V Why don’t you open it?”
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past Page 4
