The building is small, intimate. You couldn’t ask for a better place for a first date.
Don’t read too much into it, I tell myself. It’s just a thank you dinner, that’s all. Nothing more or less than that.
‘After you,’ Hale says as he pushes the door open for me. It’s a little kitsch, maybe an outdated moment of chivalry, but I don’t mind in the least. We order dinner – mushroom risotto for me, and (after he asks for my recommendation of what’s good) a plate of salmon linguine for him – and drinks to go along with it.
‘I’ve never seen this place from the inside,’ he says casually, almost breezily.
‘No?’
He shakes his head. ‘It was always a little bit out of our price range when I was a kid, you know?’
‘Must be a bit weird coming back,’ I say. ‘I mean, after being in the city for so long.’
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘You know what’s really weird? When Merry took me out for dinner the first time – after she heard me playing at some open mic night – we went to this super-fancy restaurant out on the Upper East Side, all on the label’s dime. The kind of place that’s designed to be super imposing, you know? And I realised, no one there was having a good time. I wasn’t having a good time, and I wasn’t even the one thinking about the bill. It was just table after table of people pretending to fit in. The next meeting we had, once she’d run the idea of me past her bosses, I insisted we met up at this little taco place out in Brooklyn. I used to bus tables there when I first arrived in town, I knew every crack on every table, knew just what was good and what would leave you hunched over the toilet the next morning. And I paid the bill that night. But anyway, that’s my point. All of the fancy restaurants in New York, none of them compare to… Carrie?’
‘Sorry.’ His voice cuts through my distraction, pulling me back.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Carrie,’ he says. ‘Don’t lie to me. What’s wrong? Is it something I said?’
‘No. God, no. Not at all.’
‘Then what?’
I gesture over to a table on the other side of the restaurant, where a tall blond man sits across from an almost equally tall, almost equally blonde woman. I hadn’t noticed him before I sat down, but there’s no way to avoid him now. More to the point, there’s no way to pretend he won’t notice us at some point in the evening. The minute he takes his eyes off his date – who, based on the look of her, doesn’t seem like she’s going to be enthralling conversation – it’s all but inevitable.
‘Carrie?’
‘Hmm?’
‘What is it?’
He turns in his chair, following my gaze, and then immediately I can see his whole body stiffen as he realises just who he’s looking at.
Scanlon. Aaron Scanlon. Here, of all places. Tonight, of all times.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to him. ‘You want to leave?’
He shrugs. ‘And go where? Besides, I’m not running away from the likes of him. I didn’t when I was sixteen, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now.’
‘Who said anything about running?’ I ask. ‘It would just be…’
‘A tactical retreat?’ he says, then shakes his head. ‘Nope. Screw him. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’ And then, he does something entirely unexpected, something that – to an outside observer – would seem perfectly normal: he reaches across the table, and takes my hand in his. ‘Relax, Carrie,’ he says, stroking his thumb along the inside of my palm. ‘He doesn’t matter. Not anymore.’
Who doesn’t matter? I think for a moment; with the touch of Hale’s skin against mine, everything in the world outside of our little table is forgotten.
~~~
I spend the evening wrapped up in Hale’s stories: stories of music, stories of the city, stories of the last ten years. He tells me about the dive bars he used to play at when he was first trying to get noticed, the strange roommates he crashed with when money was tight, the nights he spent trying to sneak into concerts he could never have afforded.
‘Oh, Carrie,’ he tells me. ‘I never had more than twenty bucks to my name until I was about twenty-three – but God, it was fun.’
‘Would you do it over?’ I ask. ‘If you could?’
He grins, and gives my hand another little squeeze. ‘Not if you paid me. Does that make me boring?’
‘I think it means you’re an adult.’
‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘An adult. Who would have thought?’
I would have – and yet it’s strange, in a way. I always thought Hale was so much more mature than me, when we were younger. He was the cool older kid in his leather jacket. He had an actual honest-to-God job, while I was just picking up odd shifts in the Diner. He seemed to have so much responsibility on his young shoulders, I was honestly surprised the weight of it didn’t crush him down. Then he went away, off to the big city, and it would have been so easy for him to become a man-child – playing his guitar, hooking up with girls, sleeping on couches for the rest of his life. Somehow, it seems he managed to find a balance: mature, but youthful. Responsible, but fascinating.
Listening to his stories, I’m reminded that it’s been a long, long time since I spoke to anyone who made it out of Eden for longer than five minutes, let alone out of the state. The way he talks about his life now is like something out of a fairytale to me: the lights brighter, the food richer, the sound more vivid. New York has changed him. It’s sanded off his rough edges, yes, but it’s given him a confidence he never had.
I wonder for a moment what would have happened if I’d gone with him, and then I smother that thought underneath a mental pillow just as quickly. Don’t think about that, I tell myself. Just enjoy this for what it is.
A date, apparently. A date with Hale Fischer.
And there’s only one thing spoiling it.
‘Carrie?’ he asks. ‘You still with me?’
‘Sorry,’ I say, pulling my attention back to the man sitting across from me. ‘It’s Aaron.’
‘What about him?’
‘He keeps looking at us. He hasn’t taken his eyes off us all night.’
I can see Hale tense up; just for a moment he’s gripping the knife in his hand like he’s liable to find himself in a street brawl. Even after a decade, there’s still that much of a visceral reaction in him. ‘Forget him,’ he says at last. ‘If he starts any trouble, I’ll deal with it. Until then, I’m here for you, and only you.’
I can’t stop myself from smiling at that.
‘So what does he do now?’ Hale asks. ‘Scanlon, I mean. Still coasting on his daddy, I guess?’
I grin. ‘He runs a used car dealership out in Hogarth and still brags to anyone who’ll listen about the fact that he was the captain of the football team in high school. You know. The things that really matter.’
‘Is that so?’ Hale can barely keep the smile off his face.
‘Yep. To hear it from him, you’d think he was the second coming of Steve Jobs. He’s got the impression that he’s real hot stuff in the business world, but… well, you know.’ I gesture around myself, as if the meaning is obvious. It’s easy to be a big fish in a pond as small as Eden, even if you’re a guppy like Scanlon.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.’
Chapter Thirteen
The dinner itself was perfect – so perfect, in fact, that it was almost possible to forget about our audience. Sure, my eyes danced over to Scanlon from time to time, always to be greeted with a look like a thunderstorm in return, but it didn’t seem to bother Hale at all. He didn’t turn around, not even once; instead, he kept his attention focused entirely on me.
It was a nice feeling, to know I had him rapt – the celebrity fawning over the waitress. I could get used to this, I thought, but that wasn’t quite true. It wasn’t the attention that sent my heart skipping. It was the fact that it came from Hale.
>
Dessert is unnecessary, but still practically mandatory at Isabella’s: the magic that Wilma Zielinski conjures up with sugar and flour and cream is too good to pass up. I take a piece of strawberry and rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream on the side; Hale, a wedge of chocolate fudge cake that could be used as a doorstop. One bite and his face becomes home to a look of pleasure that looks as though it would be hard to top. ‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘This is amazing. Have you tried this before?’ Before I can tell him yes – more than once, in fact; there’s a reason I don’t have the slinky waiflike figure that Meredith seems to have cultivated for herself – he’s got a bite on his spoon and is holding it out towards me to taste.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s del—’ I begin, but I’m cut off from the rest of my review by the scrape of a chair on the other side of the restaurant. Isabella’s isn’t large, so it would be difficult to miss. ‘Hale?’
‘Yeah?’
‘He’s coming over.’
‘Who?’
‘Marlon Brando. Who do you think?’
Before Hale can turn around, Scanlon is at his side, having weaved through the tables like a serpent. It’s easy to forget just how big he is – tall and broad-shouldered, the football player’s figure not yet hidden under ten years of life behind a desk. He’s no match for Hale, though; not anymore. The scrawny, lanky boy he used to pick on has disappeared into the mists of time, and the man who stands in his place is toned and tight. If Aaron Scanlon has come over here to relive his glory days by picking a fight with Hale, he’s going to be in for one hell of a shock.
‘Well, well,’ he says. ‘Hale Fischer, as I live and breathe. Ain’t that just a thing?’
Hale says nothing. He doesn’t even give Scanlon the benefit of eye contact; instead, he smiles at me. Even now, with him so rudely interjecting himself, Scanlon won’t be allowed to ruin our evening.
But that doesn’t mean he’s going away. ‘I never thought I’d see you back in these parts again,’ he says. ‘I mean, people were talking, but I didn’t believe them until I saw it with my own eyes.’
Scanlon shoots out a hand and I flinch despite myself, but for once it’s not a threat but an offering: a handshake. Hale doesn’t take it. I don’t blame him.
‘Can I help you?’ he asks.
‘Straight to business,’ Scanlon grins. ‘I like that. No bullshit. I just figured I’d come over, say hi, see if you remembered me from way back when. We had some good times together, right?’
For the first time, Hale looks up at him; the bait was too much for him to resist. ‘Oh yeah,’ he says. ‘Real good. Like the way you basically ran me out of school? Or the time you and your fuckhead friends beat the hell out of me in a parking lot?’
The used car salesman smile on Scanlon’s face falters, but only for a second or two – too quickly to be noticed, if you weren’t looking for it. ‘Well, that was just a little roughhousing, that’s all,’ he says, all teeth. ‘Boys will be boys, am I right?’
The look on Hale’s face could make every bottle of wine in the restaurant’s basement turn to vinegar. ‘Whatever you say,’ he replies.
‘Good, good. No hard feelings… that’s what I like to hear. See, the thing is, I was wondering if you could maybe do me a little favour.’
Hale doesn’t react at all, but I can feel white-hot bile bubbling up in my throat and the mushroom risotto churning in my stomach. The goddamn nerve of this guy, I think to myself. The absolute goddamn nerve. Ten years ago, he made Hale’s life a misery – almost put him in the hospital, for Christ’s sake; could have killed him – and now he has the gall to ask him for a favour? He was always a self-centred prick, but this is almost beyond belief, even for him.
‘So it turns out, my date over there – Sasha, sweet kid – she’s heard of you. Kind of a fan, almost. Isn’t that the craziest thing? I didn’t believe her when she told me you were kind of a hotshot now, but… you know, whatever.’
‘Yeah,’ Hale says. ‘Whatever.’
I look across at the blonde woman, who’s staring at us shyly. As Hale flits his eyes over to her, he gives her a smile and she immediately breaks into a blush, but as soon as he looks back over at Scanlon it’s like a thundercloud has set in across his face.
‘So what’s say you come over and introduce yourself? Maybe tell her how tight we were in high school, you know? I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’m having a little bit of trouble… closing the deal, if you know what I mean.’ He gives Hale a conspiratorial wink, like they’re prep school friends screwing around in a locker room, and barely notices when Hale doesn’t so much as blink in response. ‘So what do you say? Feel like helping an old pal out?’
Hale didn’t have many friends growing up: I know that. I know he spent a lot of time alone, and I know he learned that other people weren’t to be trusted – but when I see the look in his eyes and the smile that creeps across his face, I wonder if he’s somehow managed to forget all that. Perhaps, after all this time, the thought of being accepted by the popular kids is just too much for him to resist.
Don’t do it, I think. He’s a snake. He’s only talking to you because he wants something from you. It’s all about him, always. Scanlon isn’t any sort of a friend worth having – not then, and certainly not now.
But Hale knows that, of course. Hale knows that better than anyone.
‘Aaron?’
‘Yeah, buddy?’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ he says, loudly enough that Sasha can hear. Before Scanlon can react, he turns to Wilma Zielinski over at the bar and gives her his best winning smile. ‘Could we get the check, please?’ he asks, and then looks at me. ‘I’ve suddenly remembered I’ve got somewhere else I’d rather be.’
~~~
We’re walking along the street back to my apartment, and the mood between us couldn’t be lighter. My hand is in his, but Hale is practically skipping. I haven’t seen him this happy since he arrived back in Eden, and it’s probably with good cause. The look on Aaron Scanlon’s face when Hale told him exactly where he could shove his phony overtures of friendship almost made the years of watching him strut around town like he owns the place worth it. His face had turned redder than our diner sign, and for a minute I could have sworn that he was going to have an aneurysm right there in the middle of the restaurant.
‘I guess you think that’s funny?’ Aaron had said.
Hale had just smiled sweetly. By the time Scanlon had gathered up his jacket and his date, everyone left in Isabella’s was staring at him, waiting to see if he was going to make a scene. For a brief, glorious minute it looked as though he was going to start flipping tables on the way out, but instead he just threw a hundred dollar bill at the Zielinskis and ran for the door, his face like thunder and his date’s looking like she was wondering just what kind of a jerk she had managed to wind up spending the evening with – that is, if she hadn’t already realised it without Hale’s help.
‘So how did that feel?’ I ask him.
He smiles at me. ‘Does it make me an asshole if I say it felt really, really good?’
‘After everything he did when we were kids? No, not at all. I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting teeth.’
Hale pauses right there on the sidewalk, his face suddenly hard as stone. All the mirth seems to have dripped out of him in an instant. ‘What are you saying, Carrie?’
‘I… nothing. Why?’
And then it hits me: why it’s the worst possible thing I could have said. Why the look on his face is one of hurt, not confusion. Because I’m the one person who shouldn’t think that of him. I’m the one person in Eden who knows him better than that. Who’s supposed to know him better than that, at least.
‘I’m not saying… I didn’t mean I expected it of you, or that you should have. I just mean that it would have been justified, that’s all. No one would have held it against you. Not if they knew how things were back then.’
I hope I�
��ve been able to convince him, but no. ‘They would have,’ he says slowly. ‘They would absolutely have held it against me. I think you know that as well as anyone.’
And he’s right. That’s the kicker. He’s absolutely right. I watch him as he leans against the side of my house, taking a moment for himself, and suddenly I’m nothing but sorry for speaking out so carelessly. I go and stand next to him, not able to bear the thought of there being any distance between us, not after such a perfect evening.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ I whisper. ‘I promise.’
‘Sure?’
I nod. ‘Absolutely.’
He lifts up an arm, puts it around my shoulders, pulls me close to him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says to the top of my head. ‘Touchy subject.’
‘So I see.’
‘I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘I didn’t want to ruin our evening.’
‘You didn’t,’ I say. You couldn’t. ‘Not even close.’
‘Good.’
And so we stand like that for a moment, just enjoying the intimacy of it all.
‘I should call myself a cab,’ he says eventually.
‘You don’t have to do that.’
I feel him shake his head, but he doesn’t move away from me either. ‘I might not be quite as far gone as you, but I’m not riding my bike back to the Grove after a half-bottle of wine. I’ll just get a cab. It’ll be fine.’
I sigh. Hale. Poor, dumb Hale – either dumb, or too much of a gentleman to want to let me down easy. I hope it’s the former, and on any other day I would have let it lie, but there’s wine in my blood and time isn’t exactly on my side. What have I got to lose? What could possibly go wrong, on a night as right as this?
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘You’re not listening to me. You. Don’t. Have. To. Do. That.’
Reckless: A Bad Boy Musicians Romance Page 15
