Next To You (29 page)

‘Jesus Christ, lady, wait your turn.’

Yvonne ignored the woman. ‘Hi,’ she said brightly. ‘So this is where you earn your crust? An old friend of Willie’s told him to try shopping like this about two years ago. I was always curious what he found so appealing about having someone else pick out his clothes.’

‘He picks out his own things. I just give him options to choose.’

‘Well he always looks good. I notice you’ve got him into a few colors I’ve never seen bef—’

‘Always with the socializing on
my
time,’ Charmaine yanked the pants from Caroline’s hands.

‘Excuse me!’ Yvonne said. ‘There’s no need to be rude.’

‘Look, I’m not,’ she looked Yvonne up and down, ‘out for lunch with the ladies. Wait your own damn turn because
my
time isn’t yours to waste. I have a
real
job. I’m professional, and I don’t keep my clients waiting.’ She glanced back at Caroline. ‘Add these to my account. I don’t need them wrapped. Swear to God, if I have to come back here because there’s a security tag stuck on these …’ She tossed the pants into a tote bag and stomped off.

Caroline pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh.

‘
Lunch with the ladies
,’ Yvonne muttered, rolling her eyes. She sat against the edge of the desk, fingers brushing over Will’s note. ‘I just
love
people full of that self-important quality. I don’t know how you did that. I heard her hollering a minute ago—I’m sure the entire
floor
heard her reprimanding you. I would have been in her face.’

‘She’s a very good client.’

‘No amount of money is worth that. You should stand up for yourself.’

‘She’s not worth it, and I like my job. I wouldn’t want to lose it.’

Yvonne nodded. ‘And it looks like you do it very well. You do freelance work too, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Caroline nodded. ‘I have a small client base.’

Yvonne swung her foot back and forth. ‘I was wondering if you think there’s anything you could do for
me
.’

‘I wouldn’t change a hair on your head. You’re very stylish.’

‘What a sweet thing to say. You always say sweet things and tell sweet stories, don’t you? You remind me of these carnations.’ Yvonne reached out and touched the flowers on the desk, her hand brushing over the tops. ‘You know how daisies have smiling faces and irises that air of mystery? Well, I think carnations have a sweetness to them like you.’ She glanced down at the card beneath her fingers, reading. Her leg stopped swinging and she sniffed. ‘Aw, Willie sent you flowers. He’s sweet too. Well, now happy birthday. You know, it was nice of you to say such a kind thing about how I dress. I wonder if you could help Willie’s sister to stop looking like such a schlump. She’s so dowdy for a fifty-nine-year-old. I bet you could make her into something as adorable as you.’ She pushed off the desk. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you later, sugar.’ With a wave, and a puff of perfumed air, Yvonne’s heels click-clacked out into the tiled area in designer wear. She disappeared amid the racks of clothes.

Caroline plopped in the chair behind the desk, exhaling. She looked at the flowers, picked up Will’s card, and read it again. ‘I wish I knew,’ she muttered. ‘I wish I knew.’

***

As staid and snooty as the Foxhollow Ridge Country Club was, Caroline didn’t really mind being there with Marco and Dave, her uncle’s old golfing cronies. Marco was Dean Martin with extra stuffing and a mustache. Dave was a tall, Sammy Davis Jr. While Uncle Reg wasn’t quite Frank Sinatra, when he was with his two buddies they were the Rat Pack of regular guys. Being with the three of them on her birthday was turning into a pleasant evening, even if the other regular guy she knew wasn’t there.

The ensemble played background music during the cocktail hour and Caroline felt at ease with the three elderly men. Dave told a series of off-color jokes. Marco laughed, his mustache twitching, but Uncle Reg just nodded, smiled half-heartedly, and looked around—nervously. He got up and left the table a few times, which made her suspect that he’d arranged something birthday-related, a cake or some sort of present he’d organized the staff to bring in.

Then again, he’d drunk a lot of beer—and half a pitcher of iced water. When he slipped away from the table for the fourth time, she decided he’d overtaxed his bladder.

Caroline reached for her glass and the carafe of water. The ice tinkled, mint leaves and slices of cucumber jiggled as she poured. As she sipped, a woman spoke up behind her. ‘Excuse me, sweetie.’

Setting the glass down, Caroline scooted her seat forward, making room for the lady to pass, shifting the straps of the handbag stored under the chair. When she straightened, William sat in the seat to her left, head cocked, grinning. And everything stopped as if she’d stepped off a cliff like a character in a cartoon.

She’d had a cartoon moment in her life like this before, when time simply hung there. She’d been strapped into a harness with a man she’d only known for half an hour, and tucked her head back against his shoulder as he stepped out of an airplane into open sky. There’d been that instant where all motion had suspended, like now, then a flash where life re-engaged in free-fall and Caroline knew she was alive.

She was alive now too.

Alive. I am alive.
Falling, falling, falling, she stared at Will, mouth gaping open and she was unable to close it, just like when she’d gone skydiving, only this time, her lips weren’t flapping about in the wind.
Alive. I am alive
.

‘Hiya, Squirt. I told you I had to round up a few head of cattle. See? I brought my herd. Say
moo
, everyone.’

To his right, Quincy, Vonnie, Erika, Arch and Dennis joined in a collective ‘
Moooo
.’

With a grin, Will settled his hand on the back of her neck. She surprised him when she suddenly moved and kissed him solidly, on the mouth. She tasted of mint and cucumber. She sat back, the oddest expression on her flushed face.

‘I better get one of those!’ her uncle cried.

She bolted up and kissed him.

Quincy held his arms out. ‘Hey, don’t forget me.’

Caroline kissed him, then Dennis, Arch, Marco, Dave, Erika, and Yvonne. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘This is what you meant by you’ll “see me later.” Yvonne?’

‘I couldn’t exactly tell you I was there trying figure out if the size I got would fit you.’ Smiling, Yvonne handed over a large gift bag.

‘That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.’

‘Wipe your eyes, sweetie, you’ll smear your mascara. Nobody likes raccoon eyes, although on you it will probably look adorable.’

Caroline dabbed her eyes and faced Will, ‘I can’t believe you lied to me, William, I can’t be—’

‘I beg your pardon,’ Will crossed his arms and gazed up at her. ‘I didn’t lie. I never said I wasn’t coming. Remember? Misdirection is everything. You just have to learn to see between the lines,’ he grinned, trying hard not to read between the lines of her kiss, because there were no lines.

The rest of the evening was decidedly birthday-like. Reg ordered champagne and wine for the table. Will had a few gin and tonics, ate a thick, bacon-wrapped filet mignon, and finished the other half of Caroline’s vegetarian lasagna. There was a cake, a huge cake, they sang happy birthday, and Will had two pieces of cake.

When the band began to play swing, the country club dinner crowd began to dance. Dave pulled Caroline from her seat to do some old jive moves. Will took Erika for a spin around the floor. Quincy danced with Yvonne, until Reg cut in for a few steps and she begged off, returning to the table.

It wasn’t long before Dave was puffed. Caroline let him escort her back to their seats. He plopped into a chair beside Dennis, and she signaled a waiter for another carafe of water. That was when she noticed Yvonne’s grimace.

The woman rubbed her temples. Caroline reached under the chair for her purse, and the small bottle of pain reliever inside, to offer it to Yvonne, but she was focused on William, doing a rumba. Her eyes never wavered. She rubbed her temples and went on staring as her ex-husband danced with his best friend’s wife.

Caroline sat back, had a fourth glass of champagne, and watched William dance too. He made the rumba look effortless. ‘He’s very good,’ she said.

Yvonne poured herself a glass of water. ‘Yes, he is. He took lessons when he was twelve. His mother insisted.’ She sipped from her glass and kept watching him over the rim. ‘He and Erika make a handsome couple.’

Caroline understood why the woman couldn’t keep her eyes off the man. Neither could she, and her thoughts were tossed in a blender, sensations whizzing about.
I wish I knew. I wish I knew.

She thought William was splendid, in so many ways, and Yvonne still thought so too. It was plain she carried a torch for her ex-husband, and that torch burned even brighter than William’s and …

Whatever that free-falling sensation had been, whatever adolescent-style crush Caroline had on William Murphy, it was nothing compared to the history he shared with Yvonne.

Bubbles of irritation rose in Caroline’s chest. Being angry about that history was strange.

She wanted to ask Yvonne why she’d left such a marvelous man.

She wanted to say,
you had your chance, honey,
except there was that one silly little truth, the
he still loves you too,
and the parachute finally engaged, jerking Caroline from her free-fall to reality.

She set a couple of Tylenol in front of Yvonne, had another glass of champagne, and watched William dance.

A conga line started and he went to the back of the line. Dennis rose from the table. ‘All right, that’s it! Let’s go, kids,’ he said, clapping like a second grade teacher getting the classroom’s attention. ‘Come on, Yvonne. Come on, Caroline. What are you doing sitting here? It’s
your
birthday, Caroline. You have to dance! Yvonne, up and at ’em!’

Yvonne waved him away with a frown, rubbing her temples again.

‘Come on, birthday girl!’ Dennis lifted Caroline out of her seat by the waist, Arch grabbed her hands, the pair dragging her into the line.

She giggled as they bounced their way around the perimeter of the dance floor and snaked their way around tables. Champagne fizzed through her, and she kept on giggling. After four boisterous trails around the dining room, the conga line broke up. She was halfway back to the table, giggling, when the ensemble kicked into another tempo, a waltz.

Will caught her hand, bringing her to a stop. ‘In the words of Deborah Kerr, shall we dance?’ he said.

‘
Dun-dun-dun
… Shall we
daunce
, shall we
daunce
, shall we
dauncccce
…’ Caroline sang.

With a laugh, he led her towards the parquetry floor. He pulled her against his chest, and Arch’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

‘Hold on there, Will, hold on. Excuse me, Caroline, but Will, you promised
me
this dance.’ Arch poked a finger in his chest.

Will gave him a bemused look. ‘Did I?’

‘Yes, you did. Last New Year’s Eve you said you’d show me how to waltz the next time there was a waltz, and this, my friend, is the next waltz.’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘I’m guessing Denny’s vodka-laced Cranberry-cooler punch had something to do with it, but I have it in writing.’ Arch pulled an old shopping receipt from the pocket of his dark trousers. He waved it about for a moment and then read it aloud. ‘The next waltz belongs to Arch Beckett. See? At the bottom, under the $3.95 total, it’s dated and has your little Wm-M scribble thingy. See, Caroline?’

Caroline studied the paper scrap. She looked at Will, bit her lip, and said, ‘Oops.’

‘Let me see that.’

Arch handed him the receipt.

Will tipped his head to one side until the words became clear. ‘Ah-huh,’ he said.

‘You’re the lawyer, but I do believe it’s a legally binding contract.’

‘And you want to do this now?’ Will glanced about at the conservative country club patrons.

So did Arch, smirking. ‘Oh, yes, please.’

Will looked at Caroline, and shrugged. His arm slipped from her waist. ‘Sorry, Squirt, rules of the dance floor. Arch,’ Will pulled the man close, their chests bumping, ‘let’s boogie.’

The ensemble played ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight.’ Will spun Arch into the crowd.

Laughter rippled through the dining room, the floor cleared, people gathered to watch. Soon, others joined in to dance.

Will could waltz in his sleep and he was sleepwalking Arch through this dance. His feet moved, and he turned instinctively to the three-quarter time, but his mind revolved around Caroline, not the dance floor. He saw her over the crown of Arch’s head. She was in the arms of her uncle’s mustachioed friend, Marco. The older man held her so tightly, his knee thrust between her thighs.

Will wanted to feel her that close—he’d been about to feel her that close—and he sighed.

‘If only that was for me.’ Arch said, giving a soft laugh.

In an attempt to change direction, and modify his thinking, Will shifted his gaze to the right, back to the table where he his amused friends sat watching. Quincy circled a finger at his temple. Erika laughed, shaking her head, and Yvonne rolled her eyes.

When the music faded, he bowed, the audience clapped politely, and he followed Caroline and Marco through the crowd, intent on dancing with her, regardless of what the band played next. Three steps away from his goal, Erika stopped in front of him.

‘Will,’ she said, ‘Yvonne assed me to tell you she’s sorry, but she had a terrible head and had to go home. I think it’ss been bothering her all night. She said she’d drop some law books at your place later. Now, do you think you haff the energy for another dance with an old friend?’

***

They rode home in the back seat of Dennis’s ten-year-old Mercedes. Arch was plastered, Caroline was plain giggling drunk, and Will was a little shellacked as well. He kept tickling the back of her neck with a ribbon from a birthday present, and she kept giggling. ‘Do you how much you sound like Betty Rubble when you laugh like that?’ he said.

Sober Dennis glanced at them in the rear-view mirror as he drove. ‘You’re telling her she laughs like a cartoon character. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear, Will,’ he said.