Back In the Game (13 page)

Chapter 29

“G
race? Is something wrong with your entrée?”

I stuck my fork into a piece of something and lifted it to my mouth. “Oh, no, it's fine.”

I chewed but tasted nothing.

“Good,” Evan said. “I thought you might like this place. It's unpretentious all around, don't you think?”

“Yes,” I said.

My language skills seemed to have failed me. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to make normal conversation. Evan had to notice my odd behavior, but he didn't seem bothered by it. He continued to introduce interesting topics and to ask questions about my life as if I were actually capable of responding with more than one- or two-word answers.

See, I was terribly attracted to the man across the table.

It happened the moment I walked into the restaurant and spotted him waiting for me at the bar. I don't mean to sound dramatic but it was a dramatic moment, one of those pivotal moments in life, a moment after which nothing is ever the same, for better or worse. I suppose you could argue that every moment changes you forever, but I'm talking about those moments you remember vividly, the ones you replay in your head with wonder.

The moments, I reminded myself, that you most often regret.

I poked at the pile of herbed rice on my plate and wondered if I could get a forkful to my mouth without it all spilling. Sexual attraction tends to make my hands unsteady.

And they were trembling now. I hadn't felt so drawn to a man since I'd met Simon. I hadn't known I could feel this way again. Alive. Sexual. Intensely interested in everything Evan had to say, in the way his hair swept off his forehead, the way the cuff of his shirt accentuated the breadth of his hand. His very skin was compelling. The reading glasses he slipped on to consider the menu made me wild. He looked so serious and strong.

I felt myself staring. I wanted to gaze into his eyes; I wanted to know him.

I lowered my eyes to my plate. What was I eating? Herbed rice. And, oh, yes. The duck. I wondered then if desire after the age of thirty-five is always accompanied by mental illness.

Evan was saying something about the last show the gallery had produced.

The gallery.

I hadn't felt so compelled by Evan when we'd met at the gallery. Maybe I'd been intimidated by the space, by the notion of Evan's reputation, by his professional expertise. But away from the gallery, in a casual setting, Evan was just a man and I was just a woman and I felt dangerously close to throwing myself on him and begging him to make love to me.

“So,” Evan was saying, “would you like dessert?”

“Yes,” I said. “Okay.”

We shared a piece of cake. I think it was hazelnut. Or maybe it was almond. I don't know.

The check came. I reached for my bag.

“This is my treat,” Evan said. He slipped a credit card from his breast pocket and inserted it into the leather folder.

Simon had never paid for my dinner. He'd never paid for anything. Not once, not ever.

“Our waitress was good, don't you think?” Evan was saying. “A bit unsure of herself; she must be fairly new, but she seems to have the instincts to do the job.”

“Yes,” I said. Our waitress had forgotten to bring the water we'd asked for. She'd dropped a knife. She'd misrepresented the preparation of Evan's entrée.

But all Evan saw was the fact that she was trying.

Simon, on the other hand, would have been a boor about the whole thing, making a scene and demanding a free meal.

“Are you ready to go?” Evan asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Evan rose. I rose. We walked to the door of the restaurant. He opened it, held it as I walked through.

On the sidewalk Evan asked if he could get me a cab home. I said, “Yes, thanks,” and he stepped out into the street. A moment later he was opening the cab's back door for me.

“Thank you, Grace,” he said. “I had a lovely time.”

He smiled down at me. I tried to smile up at him.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

And I ducked into the backseat.

The cab took off with a lurch. I snuck a look over my shoulder. Evan was watching us go.

I turned around and tried to take a deep breath. It was hard to do with my heart pounding violently. I put my hand to my chest and willed my heart to slow, but it wouldn't, not until I was lying in bed an hour later.

I wondered. Had I just fallen in love with a man? I mean, a man, not a little boy, not an unruly, self-centered adolescent, but a man? Someone responsible for his own life, someone who had his own needs enough under control that he had room in his heart for the needs of another person?

You can't do this, Grace, a voice inside told me. You don't know how. You're too old to learn.

It's never too late to learn, another voice said. You simply have to apply yourself.

I turned on my side and curled up, covers clutched in my hands. I felt both very old and very young, a person who had no language to express herself beyond the ability to whimper, a person suddenly aware she was in need of great care.

 

Evan called two days after our dinner date. I was surprised; I was sure my less-than-engaging behavior had put him off.

I was also pleased. I also felt like I was going to throw up.

“Is this a good time to call?” he asked.

Simon never cared if he interrupted my life.

“It's fine,” I said. “How are you?”

“I'm doing well, thanks. And you?”

I'm confused. And scared.

“Okay,” I said. “You know, busy.”

“A teacher's life is a tough one.”

“Yes.”

Simon never showed any interest in my job, my career, my work.

“I had a good time the other evening,” he said.

My hand around the receiver was tense. I found myself staring at a spot on the floor, seeing nothing.

“Me, too.”

“I'm glad you liked the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

There was a beat of silence and then Evan said: “I was wondering if you might like to get together again, maybe this Saturday? If you like, we could have dinner at that new seafood place in the North End.”

Simon always insisted we eat at his favorite restaurants. I always paid the bill. It's what I did.

“Grace?”

“I'm sorry,” I said, a bit too loudly. I looked up from the floor. “I can't. I mean, thank you. I have plans.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Evan's voice was pleasant and even. “Maybe some other time?”

My heart thumped in my chest; it felt like it wanted to get out and run.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't think I can. Good-bye.”

Chapter 30

“J
ess, darling, what's your story?”

Trina cocked her head, held her martini aloft, and eyed Jess as if she were a specimen in a lab. It was the first time Jess, Laura, and Grace were meeting Trina. My apartment, in actuality quite spacious, suddenly felt terribly cramped.

And Jess looked terribly uncomfortable.

“You don't have to talk about it,” I said hurriedly.

“I cheated on my husband,” Jess blurted. “We got divorced. I'm consumed by guilt. I just don't know how you can not feel awful about having an affair, about—about living the way that you do.”

Trina was unfazed. She took a sip of her martini. “I have my moments, darling,” she said. “And I have my priorities. They're not everyone's priorities, to be sure.”

It was a Saturday evening in May. And for the past hour Trina had been regaling us with stories from her outrageous life. Four marriages, each to a wealthy and powerful man. Numerous affairs with an astonishing variety of men, including a well-known aging rock star and a Washington politician with the president's ear.

Grace seemed to find Trina amusing. “I can't be like you,” she said at one point. “I can't take love or romance or marriage so lightly, but I have to admit I find your attitude refreshing.”

Trina laughed. “I'm glad I entertain you, darling.”

“Oh, I didn't mean to be insulting! I just—”

“You haven't insulted me, darling. Now, you were saying that you can't take romance lightly.”

Grace nodded. “I can't, but sometimes I wish I could. It's just that I've gotten lost in love. I've let it blind me. I've let it lead me around like a dog being led by a leash. The thing is that I believe in love, I want love, I think I might even know where to find it, but I'm scared it will overpower me again and make me do stupid things.”

“What do you mean you might know where to find love?” I asked. “What haven't you been telling us?”

Grace colored. “Never mind. It's nothing. Nothing's going to happen.”

Jess reached for a shrimp from the iced platter on the coffee table. “The lady protests too much.”

“Believe me,” Grace said, and I thought she sounded sad, “I've already destroyed any chance I might have had with this man.”

Trina poured more champagne into Grace's glass. “A real man isn't so easily put off, darling Grace. They know how to practice patience. Is he a real man?”

Grace blushed. “Yes. I think so.”

“Then don't underestimate him.”

So far, so good, I thought. Five very different personalities gathered around one coffee table and so far no one had thrown an ashtray.

Of course, I don't have an ashtray in the house; almost no one does these days. Still, if there had been an ashtray, especially a heavy glass one, my sister just might have thrown it. Her disapproval of Trina was stamped all over her face. I wondered if Laura was truly horrified by Trina's casual approach to marriage or just jealous of her ability to gather husbands.

It was a mean thought, but there it was. My sister too often inspires mean thoughts.

After a third glass of champagne, Trina tripped off to the bathroom.

“I don't know how you can be friends with someone like that,” Laura hissed the moment she was out of sight.

I feigned ignorance. “Someone like what? Someone who knows how to find a husband?”

“No! You know what I mean. She's so . . . so shallow!”

“I don't think she is shallow,” Grace said. “I think she's thought a lot about how she lives her life. She's in control of everything she can be in control of. She's living her life consciously, deliberately, which means she's thought things through.”

“I wish I had some of her hardness,” Jess said. “Or her carelessness, or her independent spirit, or whatever it is that allows her to function so blithely.”

Laura folded her arms across her chest. I noticed a roll of fat around her middle. My sister, I thought, had better start watching her weight if she expects to succeed in the brutal world of middle-aged dating.

“Nell,” she said, “I don't like you spending time with her.”

My little sister, acting like my mother? Laura, it seemed, was practicing her maternal skills. This was new. But after the debacle with Duncan—which Laura had made me swear not to mention to Jess or Grace—her mood had been erratic.

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” I said. “Because I intend to spend a lot more time with Trina Donohue. She's helping me to wake up. She's helping me to start over.”

“We don't help you?” Laura demanded.

I took a sip of my martini before answering. “Not in the same way. Don't be offended. I'm not abandoning my sister and my closest friends for the popular new girl in school. I'm just adding her to the mix. For now.”

Laura didn't look too sure.

Trina came tripping back into the living room. “Talking about me, darlings?”

“Yes,” I said. “You make for an interesting conversation.”

“I do, don't I?” Trina sat next to Laura on the couch and looked her right in the eye. “Now Laura. Nell tells me you're looking for a man to father your child.”

Laura glared at me. “And to marry me, of course.”

Trina patted Laura's thigh with her perfectly manicured hand. I made a mental note to ask her about the sapphire chunk on her third finger. A gift from a previous husband or a treat she'd bought for herself?

“Of course, darling,” she said. “Would you like me to give you any pointers? I am awfully good at landing a man.”

“No,” Laura said, jumping up from her seat as if she'd been bitten by a bug. “Nell, I have to go.”

Without saying good-bye to the others, my sister stomped out into the night.

Jess and Grace left soon after, Jess looking slightly glum, Grace expressing hopes of seeing Trina again.

When everyone had gone, Trina sighed dramatically. “I'm afraid your sister doesn't approve of me.”

I poured a final drink for us both. “Don't tell me that bothers you.”

“Of course not. But I am bothered by the fact that she seems so unhappy.” Trina fixed me with unusually serious eyes. “Believe it or not, darling Nell, I care a great deal about my fellow females. Especially those who pose no threat to my business.”

“The business of snaring incredibly wealthy men.”

“Yes. And though your sister is pretty, she's a tad too fat to be competition.”

“Even though she's probably ten years your junior,” I pointed out.

“Oh, yes. The rules of my world are quite strict. Better an anorexic fifty-year-old than a fat thirty-year old. Fat just doesn't work with couture.”

No, I thought, I guess it doesn't.