Five Things I Can't Live Without (28 page)

He shook his head no. “For some reason, I just really wanted to get at this muffin. I hope it doesn’t seem too impolite that I’m eating?”

“Not at all.”

“So how did you get into this line of work? Being a profiler?” He said “profiler” with a devilish narrowing of his eyebrows.

“I just stumbled into it, I guess.” It was surprising how few people tried to make small talk with me during these sessions. I realized it was probably my demeanor. I was always shooting for pleasant professionalism. I didn’t necessarily succeed, but at the very least, I created enough of a boundary that people almost never asked me personal questions.

“It seems like such a fascinating service to offer. You can dig around in people’s hopes and idiosyncrasies and then craft those into something other people will want to date. Fascinating.”

“Are you British?” It came out more suddenly than I’d intended.

“No. You’re not alone in asking me that, though. I don’t have a British accent at all. It’s my diction.” He was devouring the muffin at an alarming rate.

“Oh. Because being British would have increased your market value.”

“So we’re on to business. Just like that.” He gave me a mischievous smile. “That’s fine. I just thought we’d start in earnest when I was done eating. But let the profiling begin!”

“No. I didn’t mean that. Let’s wait until you’re finished.” My face flushed.

“You live in San Francisco?” he asked, without missing a beat.

“No. Oakland.”

“I love Oakland.”

“What do you love about it?” I gave him a slightly bemused look that I realized a second late was flirtatious.

“The bars. They’re more—rugged.” He was moving on to the bagel. “I’m a big fan of blues and R and B. Go on, laugh. Everyone finds that hard to believe, but it’s true.” He leaned in and said in a low voice, “You know you want to laugh.”

He was right. I did want to laugh. I couldn’t picture Hunter in that scene at all. “I can’t laugh when you’re telling me to laugh. It’s like someone shouting, ‘Be spontaneous!’ You just can’t do it.”

“Well put.” He struggled to spread one of those too-frozen pats of butter on his bagel. “Let this bagel be my lesson not to get too caught up in my work. But back to you. You live in Oakland, you help people find love. That sounds satisfying.”

He didn’t seem to be making fun of me. In fact, he had very benevolent, very beautiful eyes that were fixed on me. “It’s not a bad life,” I said.

“Have you helped people find love? I mean, do you know your track record? I’m not asking that because the answer would bear on our business here; I’m just curious.”

“I actually got an e-mail recently from a former client who’s engaged. She wants me to go to her wedding.” His attention was turning me on, and I was sure he must be able to tell. I wanted him to stop looking at me and let us get on to business, and I also wanted to be pinned there in his spotlight for all eternity. I knew I should get this profile done and go home as soon as possible. There would be nothing at all wrong with whetting my appetite with Hunter and feasting on Dan. Even Dan wouldn’t think so. Not that I’d tell him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He took a large bite of his bagel and chewed it for what seemed like a hundred times.

“Why did you call me? I mean, why do you need my services?”

He looked at me quizzically. “That’s an unusual question.”

He was right. I hadn’t asked that of any other client. But they weren’t like Hunter. “You don’t need to answer. It’s really not relevant.” I looked down at my pad.

“I’ve lived in San Francisco for about a year, and I spend the vast majority of my time working. I’d place an ad without your help, but I’m an appalling writer.” He spread his hands. “That’s it.”

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s what we’re here for, right? For me to be on the spot. It’s not where I’m most comfortable, which is why I’ve been peppering you awkwardly with questions. So I’m the one who should apologize.”

“Not at all.” I almost reached out to touch his arm, but with great effort, I stopped myself. “I’m the one who was awkward. It was just a role reversal for me, and I didn’t adjust very gracefully. You’d be surprised how few people I meet have any curiosity about me at all.”

“I am surprised by that.”

“Clients, I mean.” My blush deepened.

“That’s surprising, too.”

We smiled at each other; then I said, “Well, I guess we should start working.”

“I think what you’ll find is that I’m naturally more of a listener than a talker, so I hope this won’t be too boring for you.” He drained his coffee cup. “Your move.”

I did find that Hunter was more of a listener than a talker, but he was the most charismatic listener I’d ever seen. It was like how Bill Clinton in his prime used to listen to people: he listened with his entire being. I asked questions and Hunter always answered them, but somehow, I was talking more and more. Unlike any other client I’d worked with, Hunter inspired equal disclosure. He showed me his, I showed him mine. We’d traveled to some of the same places, and realized we’d both lived in Boston at the same time and frequented some of the same bars and restaurants. Neither of us spoke Spanish well, and both of us wanted to improve. We’d both had roommates with fat cats (though Goliath could have eaten Romano). No big revelations, nothing earth-shattering, just two people laughing and chatting in a cafe until closing time. Just two people out on what looked like a really great date, except that occasionally the woman jotted down something in her notepad.

Hunter helped me into my coat. “There’s a bar around the corner.”

“I should really get home,” I said.

He looked at his watch. “It’s only eleven.”

I bit my lip. I really wanted to spend more time with him, which was exactly why I shouldn’t. But I hadn’t felt sexual energy coursing through me this strongly in a while, and it affected my judgment. “Okay,” I said impulsively.

We went to a dark bar around the corner. It was the kind of place that seemed like it would disintegrate if direct sunlight ever penetrated the interior. There was a long bar, and velvet couches scattered throughout. There seemed to be lots of nooks and corners with their own small love seats or couches. On two of them, couples looked like they’d been making out for hours.

You can’t do this. You need to go home.

I ordered Absolut Mandrin straight up. Hunter laughed—I guessed at the boldness of my choice—and ordered a gin and tonic. Holding our glasses, we wandered through the bar, checking out the available real estate until we chose a corner couch. I downed my drink quickly. I wanted my inhibitions lowered and my meta-life turned off. I wanted Hunter, and the only way I could have him was blind drunk. I considered ordering another, but was self-conscious about the kind of impression that would make.

He was sipping his drink slowly. “So how do you think the profile will turn out?”

“Good. You’re an easy sell.” Why was he talking business now? Because that’s what this was. A business meeting.
You met him to transact business, that’s all. You did not come here to
—I wouldn’t allow myself to finish the thought.

“It occurs to me that if this goes badly”—he gestured from himself to me and back again—”it could also go badly for my profile.”

I fixed him with what I hoped was a sexy/challenging stare. “I’m a woman who can separate business from pleasure.” I’m really not. But playing the femme fatale was getting me even more turned on. I was feeling the vodka.

He met my eyes directly. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer, but my act dropped away in an instant.

“The way you keep pushing me away and pulling me in, I can tell. You don’t know what you want.”

But I did know what I wanted; I just didn’t want to want it. I didn’t want to want Hunter. And I wanted him bad. Emboldened by the vodka, I said it. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Well, why don’t you kiss me then?” He watched me, his lips slightly parted.

I didn’t move. I wanted him, but I wanted him and the alcohol to be responsible. Here he was, calling my bluff. Could I actually do this?

I must have waited too long. “Maybe you should go home.” He said it matter-of-factly, then took another sip.

“I probably should.” But I couldn’t move then, either. I was throbbing for Hunter, but now I had a picture of Dan in my head. I could still kiss Hunter. I could still make this happen.

No, I couldn’t. Not unless I drank a whole bottle of vodka. That was the only way I’d get Dan out of my head now.

I gathered my coat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. He was smiling. “It’s been a pleasure, Nora.”

“I’ll have the profile to you in a few days.”

He lifted his glass to me. “I’ll be interested to see how it turns out.”

Chapter 18

I
crept in the apartment past midnight. I’d had a breath mint and was sure I didn’t smell like vodka, but I suspected I smelled like something. Like longing for someone else. Like longing unfulfilled. Like regret about walking away from Hunter. Like guilt about feeling regret.

Maybe I smelled like that.

Dan was in the bathroom in his underwear, his hair askew, brushing his teeth. Watching him, I felt the strangest sadness, like nostalgia. I stood behind him for a long moment, wanting to touch him, to smooth his unsmoothable cowlick, but I feared that somehow that would tell him everything.

He swished water around in his mouth and spit. “How was your night?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine in the bathroom mirror.

“It was a job,” I said. “I’m really tired.” I left the bathroom and sat down heavily on the bed. I could still see into the bathroom from there. Now he was flossing. My sweet Dan. How rare it was to find a man who actually flossed, and used a tongue scraper so that his breath would be fresh.

On the car ride home, I’d tried to decide if I should tell Dan. It wasn’t that much of a story, really: I was attracted to someone else; I didn’t act on it; I drove home; nothing had changed. I still wanted to be with Dan, and I was always questioning. Same old story. But did he deserve to know? Did he deserve to know that I intentionally had placed myself in a compromising position so that Hunter would kiss me, and then I chickened out? Because if Hunter had kissed me, I don’t know what would have happened. The odds were good that I would have kissed him, at the very least. I didn’t think I would have gone so far as to sleep with Hunter, but I would have wanted to. Did Dan need to know that I’d had those thoughts and feelings? Would he deserve to know if Hunter and I had actually made out? If I had stopped it before we had sex? If we had sex?

I rode that slippery slope the whole way home, and I was nowhere near a decision. There’d be no harm in waiting a few days to clear my head and then telling Dan. As much as I hated keeping secrets, as tempting as it was to confess to Dan, I said nothing. In bed that night, when he ran his hand up my thigh, I yielded. It seemed the easiest thing to do.

The next night, I was relieved to be meeting Larissa and Sonya for dinner, even if Sonya’s mood was markedly different from mine. Her cheeks were rosy with happiness. Palance was almost ten months old, and this was only her third time out without him.

“Driving the bridge to get here, I thought, ‘This must be what it feels like to make a successful jailbreak.’” She bit into a piece of bread. “It’s crazy. All my sensations are heightened. And you know what I keep thinking?” She didn’t wait for a response; she was too giddy. “There’s not a baby in this restaurant. Just pleasant, adult conversation. We don’t go out to restaurants much anymore, but when we do, they’re all baby friendly. So if your baby’s not crying, someone else’s baby is. And we’re all very sweet and tolerant about it, because we want the same treatment. Well, if someone in here attaches a human being to her boob, I’m going to march up and say, ‘Put that thing away!’” She looked around, but there were no exposed boobs to be found. She smiled at us joyously.