Champagne Life (15 page)

Honestly, my first instinct was to slap the taste out of his mouth, and ten seconds ago, I probably would have. Instead, I cocked my head to the side and asked, “What are you doing here at this hour?” I looked down at his jeans and T-shirt. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“I tried to call you,” he said. “When I heard you got fired, I was pissed.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were the one who said something about my interview. And then you were the only one who saw me drink the beer—the beer that you gave me.”

“I never said anything. I swear.”

“How did your aunt find out then?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. It could've been anybody. You know people are always listening in on conversations in the back room. It could've been Deb from the Lower Merion branch—she was there.”

“Come to think of it,” I said, “She
was
at the restaurant with Bob from accounts, remember?”

“There you go.”

“You never answered my question,” I said.

“What question?”

“Why are you here now, dressed like that?”

“I quit. I was so sick of that place and then when you left—” His voice dropped off. “You were the only sane person in that hell hole.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I'm here to pick up my last check.”

“Oh.”

He looked down at my jeans, T-shirt and studded flip-flops. “What about you?”

I couldn't tell him that I was down here to slap the crap out of him, so I opted for another story. “I was actually picking up my last check as well, but then, I remembered your aunt said it would be in the mail.”

“Oh, okay. Did you get it?”

“The check?”

“The job,” he said. “The interview you went on that got you fired?”

My gaze fell to a jagged chip on the concrete sidewalk. “Oh, that one. Yeah, I got it,” I lied, kicking away a chipped piece of stone. “Yeah, it's an accounting-type thing, more money, closer to home.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Let's go to lunch to celebrate.”

“I don't think—”

“Oh, come on. We're not going to be seeing each other anymore. You can at least have one last lunch with me.”

I thought about the six dollars and change in my purse. “I really can't.”

“It's my treat. One last time.”

I checked my watch. It was after two. DeShaun probably wasn't home yet anyway, plus, I hadn't eaten anything today. My head wasn't pounding like it had been earlier, but I still had a droning stab in my temples. Hopefully, a quick bite would help.

We walked two blocks to the deli.

“I'm taking some time off from job hunting,” he told me after we were seated. “It's not going to be easy, but I've got some money saved up so I decided to go back to school to get my engineering degree.” He nodded toward the two brown bags he placed in the chair next to him. “That's what those are, school books. The bank was only supposed to be temporary anyway.”

“Wow! That sounds great.”

A server walked up to our table, placed two glasses of water in front of us and then, took a step back. She reached into the apron fastened around her waist and produced a pad and a half a pencil.

“Ready to order?” she asked, cheerily.

“We haven't gotten menus yet,” Jeremy said.

“Oh, sorry.” The server reached around and grabbed two menus from the table behind her. She handed one to me and slid one across the table to Jeremy. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Jeremy looked up from his menu. “So tell me about your new job. Did you start yet? Is it a big company? What will you do in your new position?”

The waitress returned. “Ready to order yet?”

Jeremy gave me a quick glance. I pulled the menu up in front of my face to keep from laughing.

“I'll have the garden salad,” I told the waitress.

She jotted that down. “What dressing?”

“Ranch.”

“Would you like bread with that?”

“No, thank you.”

Jeremy closed his menu and handed it back to the waitress. “And I'll have the BLT sandwich, extra mayo.”

When she finished jotting down our orders, she turned and walked away.

Jeremy looked at me. “Why are you laughing?”

“You know why,” I said. “The last time we ate here you were ready to ream into our server about being over eager. This one was kind of pushy and you kept it cool.”

“I don't have time or energy to be letting these people get on my nerves anymore.” He took a sip of his water. “So anyway, finish telling me about your job.”

We were surprised when the waitress returned with our lunches so soon. She set the BLT in front of me and the salad in front of Jeremy. When she left, we traded plates.

“Anyway,” he said, pulling up a slice of bread from his sandwich and sprinkling salt and pepper onto the plump beefsteak tomato. “Give me all the details about your new position. You're probably making more money and less crap work. And you don't have to deal with irate customers anymore.” He took a huge bite. A glob of mayo dropped from the sandwich and landed in the middle of the pile of chips on his plate.

I took a small bite from my salad. “What would you like to know?” Good thing I wasn't all that hungry. The lettuce lay wilted on the plate and the ranch dressing tasted like straight mayonnaise. My stomach turned, but I couldn't tell if it was due to the unsavory salad or the fact that I had been feeling this way since leaving the house this morning. Maybe it was a combination of both.

“When do you start your new gig? What will you be doing?” He took another huge bite. There went half the sandwich. “Sorry to be so greedy, but I haven't eaten since yesterday and I'm starved.” With his mouth full, he shoved in another bite. “Go ahead, finish what you were saying.”

“Well,” I began, “I start in about two weeks and—”

What the hell was I doing? Why was I lying?

I set down my fork. “I'm not starting in two weeks,” I blurted out. “I don't even know if I got the stupid job. I haven't heard from the company.”

“Really?”

If I was putting it out there, I might as well put it all on the table. “One more thing. I wasn't coming down here to pick up my check. I was headed down here to cuss you out.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I thought you were the one that got me fired,” I said. “I thought it was you who told about the beer we
both
had. I also thought it was you who ran your big mouth about my interview.”

He set down the rest of his sandwich and sat back in the chair. “You can't pin that mess on me. I didn't even know about your interview.”

“I thought you eavesdropped and heard me talking about it on the phone in the back room and then ran to tell your auntie to get me fired.”

“You were doing a lot of thinking, weren't you? And even if that was the case, why would I want to get you fired?”

I felt the heat rush up to my cheeks. I wished I hadn't said anything at all.

“I thought you were angry because I turned you down.” There. I said it.

“You honestly thought I would do something like that because you wouldn't go out with me?”

“Let's be fair here. You were this jerk who wouldn't quit with the passes.”

“I wasn't trying to get with you, not really. I knew you were married, so I didn't really expect anything. Besides, here's a little something you might not know,” he leaned over the table and whispered, “I'm not into married women.” He took a sip of his water. He looked me dead in the face and didn't cut his gaze once. “If you felt that way, I apologize. I obviously gave you the impression that I'm a douche.”

He was being sincere and I appreciated that. “It's my fault, too. I guess I always assumed the worst about you, when, in actuality, you're not that bad.”

“I gotta say,” he began. “It still kind of hurts that you thought I would get you fired, and especially for something like that. Honestly, Naomi, I like you. You're cool people. Ever since you set me straight that day at lunch, I thought we were good. Guess I was wrong.”

“It's not all your fault, Jeremy. I suppose I needed someone to blame for all this mess.”

“What mess?”

I shook my head, not wanting to get into it again. “Let's just say I've had better days.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually there is.”

He raised his brow. “Yeah?”

“You're not working now, right?”

He nodded.

“So please tell me how are you making it, financially?”

“Well, there's just me. My one-bedroom apartment is only five-eighty a month. My car ain't great, but it's paid for. I don't have credit cards or student loans. Plus, when I worked at the bank, I was able to save money. I have six months' salary in my account.
No stress. I'll probably get a part-time job if I need it, but for now I'm good. Need to know anything else?”

“Nah. Sorry if I was being so nosy, but I was just wondering. I do appreciate the lunch, but I have to get home.”

“No problem. You sure?”

I stood up from the table. “Yeah. Thanks again.”

“Wait, take down my number and call if you need anything.” He grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and quickly scratched his number on a napkin.

“Okay.” I turned to leave but my feet felt like cement and didn't move toward the door. It all happened so suddenly. My knees started to wobble and then gave out from under me. The last thing I remembered was somebody yelling, “Call nine-one-one!”

“
M
imi!” DeShaun called, when he stepped into the house. He dropped the mail onto the foyer table. The new stack joined three other unopened piles of bills. “Yo, yo, yo, baby, you here?” he asked playfully. He listened for a minute and didn't hear anything. He was slightly irritated that she wasn't home. He was going to burst, if he didn't tell someone about the Herjavecs' party. The news may not have been as big as getting a full-time gig, but, with all that had happened lately, a piece of good news—no matter how small it was—should be celebrated.

He went over to the fridge and pulled out a cold Kalik. He popped it open with his teeth and took a swig. He reached into the fridge, pulled out a clear plastic container and yanked open the top.

Jackpot! Homemade chocolate chip cookie dough. The way he liked it too, cold.

He grabbed a handful and downed it in seconds. He grabbed some more and rammed that into his mouth. He lifted the Kalik bottle to his lips and washed down the dough with one large gulp. He went to grab more dough but realized that wasn't going to get it. He was hungry and needed something more substantial, a steak maybe.

He opened up the freezer and pulled out the next best thing, or at least the thing they could afford right now; hot dogs. He popped three dogs into the microwave and set it for two minutes.

He reached deep inside his pants pocket and pulled out the napkin with Mrs. Herjavec's number on it. He then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed. The line on the other end rang three times before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

The voice sounded like Mrs. Herjavec, but he wasn't certain. He cleared his throat and then said, “Good afternoon. I'm looking for Mrs. Herjavec, please.”

“This is Jenn.”

“Hi, how are you?”

“Who is this?”

“DeShaun Knowles.”

She was silent.

“DeShaun, from the restaurant.”

When she still didn't say anything, he started to rethink his decision to contact her.

“The server,” he added. He would have said something like, “The black waiter whose backside you grab every chance you get,” but that probably would have included every restaurant within a sixty-mile radius.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she said. “How are you? And please call me Jenn.”

The way M.J. made it sound, Mrs. Herjavec had been to the restaurant several times looking for him. Talking to her on the phone, she didn't sound pressed at all.

He cleared his throat. “I'm calling to get some information about the party your husband is throwing for you.”

He heard muffled commotion in the background on her line, as if she had covered the speaker with the palm of her hand. He waited patiently, listening to the garbled voices. He couldn't hear what she was saying but she sounded irritated.

“I'm sorry,” she finally said. “What was I saying?”

“The party?”

“Oh, yes. It's next week, and we'll need about seven or eight waiters to service about one hundred and twenty-five people.”

He rushed to the kitchen. “Okay.” He pulled open several drawers, in search of a pen and paper to write down the information. He settled on a dull, chewed-down pencil and the corner of a recipe Naomi had cut from a Stove Top Box.

“We should meet up to discuss the plans,” she said. “Are you available now?”

“Now?”

“If that's a problem, we can get together some other time. I just don't know when I'd be able to.”

No way was he going to give her the chance to change her mind. “No, no,” he said quickly. “Now's cool. Where should we meet?”

“You've been here before. Why don't we meet at my house?”

He had been to the Herjavecs once to drop off champagne glasses for a fundraiser they were having. It was way out in the boondocks, heading toward Drexel Hill, but a job was a job. “I can be there in an hour.”

“Great. See you in an hour.” She hung up.

He grabbed an envelope of an overdue bill, turned it over, and scribbled down a note for Naomi when she came in.

Had to meet with clients about a party next week. Be back soon.