All I Ever Wanted (9 page)

“I know that,” I said. “What I mean is, the First Lady has influence. Which is true in any ad campaign that uses celebrities, whether they're hawking milk or Nikes. So if we had Leo in a BTR ad, I'm sure we'd see a bump in sales.”

“Hmm,” Muriel said. “Interesting.”

No one made eye contact. This was Advertising 101. I glanced at Mark, who was looking at Muriel with a very tender expression. He leaned over and placed his hand over hers.

“It's a lot to take in,” he said. “Well, this has been great. Thanks, Callie. We'll get back to you and talk about next steps. Oh, and by the way, the BTR people
are coming out later this week. We'll be doing an event on Friday. Participation mandatory.”

“What kind of event?” Damien asked, immediately suspicious.

“A little hike so Charles can see the beauty of a Vermont sunset,” Mark said, ignoring Damien's stricken expression. “Drinks and dinner afterward.”

 

J
UST BEFORE LUNCH
, Fleur slipped into my office and closed the door. “What the fuck-all was Mark thinking?” she hissed. “Yeah, he's shagging Muriel, but did he have to hire her? She doesn't know a bloody thing!” She flopped onto my couch.

The thing about Fleur was that when she was truly upset, her accent slipped, something she was completely unaware of. Her accent was in full force now. I suspected she wanted gossip.

“It's Mark's company,” I said calmly, turning away from my computer. “And I'm sure Muriel will…” I paused. “Well, she'll catch on. Obviously, her dad wants her on this account.”

“Callie,” Fleur whispered. “I've got much more experience than Muriel.” Accent gone, revealing shades of New York. The truth came out. “Just because my father doesn't own the company doesn't mean I should have to take orders from that frigid and ignorant bitch.”

“Listen,” I said quietly, “don't go there. Just do your job well and trust that Mark will work things out.”

“She's making more than me. More than you, too, as a matter of fact. Karen told me.”

“Karen shouldn't have—”

“All right, all right, she didn't tell me. I just happened to see some paperwork when I was in there for something
else.” She sighed. “Figured you should know. You and Mark were…well. Whatever.”

The accent was back. I glanced at my watch. “I have to run, Fleur. I'm sorry. I'm meeting someone for lunch.”

“Oh, right!” she said. “The plan!”

“What plan?” I asked, closing a file on my computer.

“The plan to make Mark green with envy!” she whispered gleefully.

“Oh, I'm not really going—”

“Now, now, no need to explain! I'll walk you out.”

Sighing—Fleur could be a bit much—I grabbed my bag and we walked into the foyer, where Mark was signing something for Damien. “Have fun on your date!” Fleur called loudly as I pulled open the door to leave. Mark and Damien looked up.

“You're going on a date?” Damien asked, as shocked as if I'd just announced I was getting a sex change.

I blushed. “Well, I'm just meeting a…a friend, that's all. For a quick lunch.”

Mark's eyes were…knowing. Smiling, too, the type of smile a man uses when a woman…when he…ah, shit, I was losing my train of thought. His eyes were warm, as if we shared a secret, and his generous mouth pulled up at one corner. For a second I—

“How thrilling,” Damien drawled. “Toodles.”

“Have fun,” Mark said. His eyes wandered down to my legs, and when he looked up again, he gave me a little wink, and my dopey heart leaped.

“See you in a bit,” I said.
Get over him,
Mrs. Obama said.
I'm trying,
I answered silently.

Doug336 and I were meeting at Toasted & Roasted, one of the three restaurants in our fair city. It was a little café known mostly for its coffee, the usual endless
variety of lattes, mochaccinos and chais, but it also served soup and sandwiches for lunch. It was a pretty space with brick walls and lots of plants, the old tile floor intricately patterned. “Hey, Callie,” the owner called as I came in.

“Hi, Guy,” I answered. “What's good today?”

“Got some nice hot pastrami and Swiss on rye,” he said. “Also a Philly cheese steak special.”

Both sounded fantastic…but both were dangerous date foods, requiring much chewing and many napkins. They were really more of an “alone” type of food, where you could get grease on your chin and really enjoy. First impressions were so important, though, and I didn't want Doug336 to have a mental image of me with a cheesy wad of steak on my bosom. “I guess I'll have a cup of the soup,” I said regretfully.

“Coming up,” Guy answered cheerfully.

At that moment, the door to Toasted & Roasted opened, and in came my mother. And Louis. Upon sighting me, Louis's pale face lit up with creepy delight.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Someone looks good enough to eat.”

“Hi, Mom!” I said brightly, giving my mother a kiss and making sure she stood between myself and Voldemort there. “Hi, Louis.”

“Hello, honey, fancy running into you. And you do look nice. Louis is right.” A Grinchy grin spread across Louis's face, and he stepped a little closer to me. Oh, God. He'd obviously come right from work.

“Louis, you're…you still have your gloves on,” I said, swallowing against the images that leaped with unfortunate clarity into my brain. Latex gloves meant he was…preparing someone.

“Oopsy,” he said. Without taking his eyes off me, he peeled off the gloves, slowly, as if doing a striptease, then did a throat-scraping snort to clear his postnasal drip. Dear God.

“Calliope, did you know
your father
has been calling me?” Mom asked, frowning as she surveyed the take-out choices of the day. “Of course, I don't pick up. Does he have a brain tumor or something I should know about?”

“Um, nope, no brain tumor, Mom. He has more time now that he's retired. Maybe he just…needs to talk.” She gave me a dubious look and said nothing.

“I was just thinking about you today, Calliope,” Louis murmured. “How I'd…
display
you.” His anemic eyebrow rose.

“Come on, Louis!” I blurted. “That's a horrible come-on line, not to mention terrifying!” He said nothing, just smirked. “Well, I'm meeting a friend, so I'd better run,” I added, backing away. “Have a nice lunch!” With that, I scampered into the corner and took a seat.

Toasted & Roasted started to fill up with the lunch crowd. I waved occasionally, since I knew just about everyone in town. There was Shaunee Cole, one of the River Rats. Dave, Annie's brother, was on his phone. “Hey, gorgeous,” he called to me, pausing in his conversation. I waved back. Always loved Dave.

In four more minutes, Doug was going to be late, I noted, glancing at my red Hello Kitty collector's edition wristwatch. I figured I'd give him ten minutes, then leave. Granted, I'd have happily waited hours for Mark…had, in fact, waited for months, if not years. I squelched the small lance of pain that thought caused and texted Annie to distract myself.
Am meeting Doug336. Please choose color of your dress as maid of honor. Will call with a
report.
Annie was taking quite the interest in my love life, determined that I, too, should end up as smugly happy as she and Jack were.

Ah-ha! Here was Doug336 coming in right now. I waved (not too vigorously, didn't want to seem psychotic or desperate). He didn't see me. Alas, the guy behind him did, and that guy was Ian McFarland, veterinarian. He froze, then gave a small nod before fixing his attention firmly on the specials board.

Oh, calm down,
I thought.
I'm not here for you.
I stood up and walked over to greet my date. Ian didn't look away from the board, reminding me of Josephine's early years, when she'd cover her eyes to become invisible.

“Hi, there, Doug.” I smiled my hundred-watter and noted from the corner of my eye that Ian McFarland let out a sigh of relief. For heaven's sake!

“Hi, Callie! Great to meet you,” Doug said.

“I got us a table in the back,” I said. “Do you want to order?”

“Nah, I'm not here for the food,” he grinned. “Lead away.”

Ooh! I liked Doug336! He was cute! And how nice for Dr. Stuck-Up to see that a man liked me! So there! “Hello, Dr. McFarland,” I said.

“Hello, Miss Grey,” he said, not taking his eyes off the specials board.

“Can I call you Ian?” I asked, just to be a pain.

He cut his eyes to me, then looked back at the menu. “Of course.”

“Have a wonderful day, Ian,” I said, turning away to my date.
That's right, Ian. I have a date. And he's cuter than you.

“You're even prettier than your picture,” Doug336 said as we sat down.

I smiled. “Thank you, Doug.” He was quite attractive, with longish dark hair and hazel eyes. Nice build, jeans, T-shirt, a woven bracelet made of some shiny fiber.

I hadn't been on a first date in a long, long time. In fact, I'd never been on a date with someone I didn't know pretty well. “So,” I said, grinning so my dimple showed, something that always worked well for me. “Where shall we start? I have to admit, you're my first Internet date ever.”

“An Internet virgin,” Doug murmured. “Nice.” I blinked. “How about a basic exchange of information?” he suggested.

“Sure,” I agreed, suddenly hesitant. “Well, I work at an ad agency. Um, I have an older sister and a younger brother. Lived in Vermont most of my life, though I went to college in Pennsylvania and lived in Boston for a few years. Never married, no kids, two nieces.”

“Do you live alone?” he asked.

“No, I live with my grandfather, actually. He's um…” I paused, not wanting to share Noah's issues with a stranger. “We're very close.”

“I have a housemate, too,” Doug answered. “She's kind of a shrew, but it's her house, so what can you do?”

“Oh, that's too bad,” I said. “Are you looking for another place?”

“Well, it's my mother, so I'm stuck.”

Strike one.
“Why don't you move?” I asked.

“I'm broke,” he said with a deprecating smile.

Strike two.
Not to be financially prejudiced, but a broke thirty-three-year-old who lives with his mama…the positive indicators were not exactly raining down.
Mark
and Muriel,
Michelle Obama reminded me.
You're moving on, remember?
Right. Plus, the surly vet had just sat down nearby, and for obvious reasons, I wanted him to see me interacting successfully with a male of my own age.

“So what do you do for a living, Doug?” I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ian unfolding the
Wall Street Journal.
Before Doug could answer, my mother and Louis approached, brown bags in hand.

“Callie, are you on a
date?
” Mom asked, not bothering to keep the shock and horror from her voice.

“Hello,” Louis said, standing much, much too close to our table. Doug and I both looked up. “I'm Louis. Calliope's special friend.”

“He's not,” I said. “Mom, Louis, this is Doug. Doug, my mother, Eleanor Misinski, and Louis Pinser, her assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” Doug said.

“What are your intentions toward Callie?” Louis said in that silky, serial-killer voice. “Is this serious? Should I be concerned, Calliope?”

“Okay! Bye now,” I said. “Bye, Louis. You may go. Off with you now.”

My mother took Louis's arm and pulled him back a few steps. “I hope you have fun,” she said in that sympathetic and somber tone she used at work. She sighed tragically—poor woman, had her daughter learned nothing?—and guided Louis out the front door.

I took a deep breath and refocused on my date. “Sorry,” I said, smiling sheepishly. “You were about to tell me what you do for a living.”

“I'm an artisan,” he said, his face lighting up. “I use organic materials in unexpected applications to try to
get people to pay more attention to our natural gifts.” It was clearly a recitation Doug used often. He leaned back in his chair and grinned.

“Oh,” I said. “Ah.” I tried not to hold the whole granola/artisan/crunchy Vermont thing against him…after all, you couldn't go forty feet in this state without tripping over a potter or a weaver or a sculptor. My own grandfather was quite an artisan, though I was fairly sure Noah would stick a fork in his eye before using that particular label.

“So what do you actually make?” I asked, taking a spoonful of soup. Ah. Broccoli and cheese. Delicious.

“I make plant holders out of human hair,” Doug said, and I choked. Grabbed a napkin and wheezed away, coughing, tears in my eyes, swallowing convulsively. My eyes dropped to his bracelet. Blerk! It was hair! Someone's hair! I wheezed harder, horror and hilarity thrashing in equal measure.

“Wow,” I managed. Ian McFarland shot me a glance, and I tried to smile, gave him a feeble wave.

“You okay?” Doug asked.

“Oh, sure,” I said, finally getting my breath back. “So. Human hair. Wow.”

“I know,” Doug said proudly. “No one's really doing that these days, so I've cornered the market.”

“There's really a market for human hair macramé?” I asked. “Um, I mean… Human hair. Wow.”

Steee-rike three!
I suppressed the urge to do that cool little punching thing the home plate umpires do, but come on! Doug336 of the human hair craft corner was not the kind of guy to replace Mark.

Appetite slain, I tried to tune out Doug as he waxed rhapsodic about the strength and versatility of different
types of hair…red, brunette, the rare natural blond. Glancing surreptitiously to my left, I saw that Ian was engrossed in an article. Nice way to spend a lunch, reading and eating, two of my favorite pastimes. And he'd ordered the pastrami, lucky bastard. It looked fantastic.