Strangers in the Night (9 page)

• • •

A while later, after the quartet finished their second set, they looked around and realized the event was basically over and it was time to gather their things and leave. They went out into the hallway, saying their goodbyes. Simone and Michelle left immediately, Ralph stayed behind to speak to someone he knew, and Keila rummaged through her purse to find her cell phone.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jake’s deep baritone asked from behind her, and the skin on Keila’s neck prickled in response.

“No, thank you,” she answered, without bothering to turn around.

“Are you taking the bus or the train?” he asked. Keila slowly turned around and took her time before answering.

The truth was that she was taking the bus, but her mother thought she had a ride. Keila hated to lie, but her mom couldn’t see well enough at night to pick her up, and she didn’t want to worry her. She decided a white-lie would do for Jake, as well. “I’m catching a ride with Ralph,” she answered, motioning in her friend’s direction, and she was about to turn and pretend to walk out with him when Ralph shot out his hand and said, “My ride’s here. Bye, Keila!” And Keila froze.

Jake chuckled. “Come on, let me give you a ride,” he said, softly this time, and Keila felt her belly dip and roll. Her body’s reactions to him were new to her and they were delicious enough for her to be momentarily tempted to say yes just so she could continue to feel them.

But a disturbing thought swept her mind. What if he was offering her a ride to promote the idea that they were a couple? After all, his approval ratings within the Hispanic community and the working middle class had improved since they’d been falsely linked. Was he looking to raise those numbers a little more? “No thank you, I’ll take the bus. I like the bus.”

“You’d rather take the bus?” Jake asked in disbelief.

“Gee Jake, you’d think that of all people,
you
would know that being seen in a car alone with me would only fuel rumors about us being a couple. I, for one, want to quell that rumor, it doesn’t benefit me in the least,” Keila replied.

Jake seemed genuinely taken aback. Feeling slightly guilty, Keila turned and walked to the door. But no sooner did she grab onto the bronze handle than she heard footsteps behind her. He put his hand on the handle, too, essentially covering her own small hand with his large and, surprisingly, callused hand. He spoke into her hair, near her ear, effectively sending chills down her arms and spine.

“I’m offering you a ride because the idea of you lugging around the extra weight of a violin case and a huge, heavy bag onto buses and trains all over the city late at night bothers me, okay? It’s eleven o’clock; don’t you think being safe is more important than being stubborn?”

Keila took her hand off the handle and unwittingly wiped her sweaty palm on her skirt. Could he really be worried about her? Feeling perturbed, she asked, “Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?”

“Hell no!” he answered so quickly and earnestly, she had to bite back a smile.

“Good. Then you can give me a ride. But only because it will make you feel better,” she relented, knowing she sounded immature.

“Fine. And since you’re so concerned about being seen with me, we’ll take my mother’s car. I’ll meet you at the corner to the left of the house in five minutes.”

A few minutes later, Keila stepped into a sleek, gleaming black Mercedes Coupe. She sunk into the plush beige leather and smugly reproached, “I knew you drove a luxury car.”

Jake unexpectedly laughed. “I told you it’s my mother’s car. Now don’t you feel safer and more comfortable here with me than in a bus with some random stranger sitting next to you? At least you know I’m not Jack the Ripper.”

“Honestly? Maybe I would be more comfortable in the bus sitting next to a stranger than in a car sitting next to someone who refuses to call me by my given name. You know, you haven’t called me Keila once. That ‘Miss Diaz’ deal is cold.”

“Keila,” he said with one hot gaze that just happened to knock the air out of her lungs. “There. Do you feel better now?”

She shrugged, feeling flighty, not better, and noting
he
seemed to be in an excellent mood. The fundraiser must’ve been a success. Cate had once said Jake Kelly had that debonair thing going on, and Keila had seen that in him tonight. And now he was being dashing, as well, wanting to see her safely home.

“What car do you drive?” Keila asked when her thoughts began to bother her.

Jake cleared his throat. “A 1965 Shelby Cobra Roadster,” he answered, trying to keep his voice level but failing miserably. It was dripping with typical male enthusiasm over his cool car.

“Wow. Talk about luxury.”

“It isn’t a luxury car. It’s a
classic
,” he said, the last word almost reverent. She laughed, and he grinned, making her like him a little better.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” Keila asked, wanting something to take her mind off her reactions to Jake.

“Go ahead.”

She fumbled with the dial and instead of the radio; Billy Joel’s softly melodic “She’s Got A Way About Her” filled the car. “You know, a wise woman very recently told me all worth-while philosophy should be put to music,” she sighed, wishing she had a way about her, so that she could affect this man the way he affected her. Not because she wanted anything from him, God knew. Just for revenge. It wasn’t fair she should suffer alone.

“You know — I think I know that woman,” Jake said. “And she’d tell you that if you listen close enough, Billy Joel has the answer to everything.”

“She has the soul of a musician,” Keila declared, adding, “Maybe you do, too.”

He laughed. “Trust me, I don’t. I can’t play or sing worth a damn.”

“It’s not just about that, it’s also about being moved by music,” she explained, remembering how earnest he was about the music program.

“I’m not easily moved by anything. In fact, I might just have the soul of an undertaker.”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that.” Keila snuggled back into the seat and listened to Billy, thinking it was better if they didn’t talk. It was bad enough being attracted to him, she didn’t want to feel friendly toward him as well.

When they neared her neighborhood, she gave him final instructions on how to get to her street, finishing with, “It’s the teal and red bungalow, you can’t miss it.”

“
Teal and red?
” he looked over at her again, both eyebrows raised.

“My mom likes crazy color schemes and my dad loved making her happy. And now whenever she needs to paint the house, she can’t bear to change the colors.” Not thinking, she added, “She can’t bear to change anything, really. The whole house is exactly the way it was eleven years ago.”

Curious, Jake turned to her. “Like Miss Havisham in ‘Great Expectations’?”

“No. She isn’t half-mad, only a little eccentric and a lot in love.”

“That’ll do it.”

“What’ll do it?” Keila asked.

“Love,” Jake answered, and such a word, said with such a lack of emotion, seemed to just hang in the air.

“I don’t think it’s love that does people in; it’s passion that’ll get you in trouble. People should just concentrate on finding friendship and compatibility. That lasts.”

“I guess you’d know,” Jake remarked, just as Billy Joel began to croon “Leave a Tender Moment Alone.”

“Um, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Didn’t a
lack
of passion get you, let’s see … semi-dumped by your quasi-ex-boyfriend?” he smiled wickedly as he slowed down to look at her.

Keila felt her temper spike at the sensitive subject. “So, you aren’t good with faces, but you can remember Cate’s comment, word for word?”

“It caught my attention, that’s all.”

“Why?” she challenged.

“I’ve just never heard of a sexless liberal before, that’s all,” he grinned. This time, she didn’t like him better for the grin.

She opened and shut her mouth twice before finding words. “Who said anything about me being sexless?” she finally demanded.

“That’s what lack of passion usually means,” Jake shrugged, before adding, “Teal and red, there it is.”

“You know, on second thought, I think I prefer cold and distant Jake better than friendly Jake. Turns out friendly Jake is a bit of an ass. You can continue to call me Miss Diaz.”

Jake laughed heartily and the sound made Keila smile in spite of herself. Okay, so she liked friendly Jake. He was about to roll to a stop in front of her house when she saw a man sitting on her front steps, looking down at his phone. “Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.

Jake saw him, too. “Damn it, I think I know him. He’s this popular blogger who sometimes attends press conferences.”

“A blogger?” Keila repeated, dumbfounded. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s a burglar,” she added, hopeful.

“I’ll drop you off at the corner. Ignore him and don’t say a word. We’re not really interesting enough to hold the public’s attention, okay? He’s probably fishing around like this because nothing else of interest is going on, so don’t let him get to you. Don’t do that overemotional thing you do.”

“Overemotional thing I do?” Keila repeated.

“You know; the way you became unhinged at the press conference last Friday? And then on Monday you became agitated and unreasonable during our disagreement,” he calmly explained.

Unhinged, agitated, and unreasonable, huh?
Cold Jake was back and Keila wanted to hit him over the head with her violin case. When they reached the corner, she quickly got out of the car, and yanked her stuff out from the back seat. First, she was sexless, and now, she was overemotional
?

An emotional person would have slammed the door of the car, which she didn’t, but just barely. It was his mom’s car, after all, and
she
was a doll.

A minute later, Keila reached her house and was hesitantly approached by the reporter. “Keila Diaz? My name is Pete and I write a blog about the Chicago social and political scene. I’ve been trying to find out a little more about your relationship with Jake Kelly. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She ignored him, even though he came across as polite and decent.

“Look, I know he already issued a standard denial regarding a romantic relationship with you, but nobody ever believes those generic denials. I’d just like to hear it from you, too, so I can officially put this thing to rest,” he explained, and he seemed reasonable. Jake was the overemotional one, Keila decided, acting as if this nice blogger was some insane paparazzo trying to get a scoop.

So Keila decided to unemotionally explain, in no uncertain terms, that she and Jake Kelly were not and would never be romantically linked, and why, even though she didn’t think that many people would tune into Peter’s blog when there were so many blogs out there.

The front door opened and Graciela came out. Pete stood up. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was home,” he said.

“I came downstairs to turn the lights on for Keila and to reheat some chocolate Cortez
for her. Are you Keila’s friend? Would you like some, too?”

• • •

Jake circled the entire block slowly to drive past Keila’s house again and make sure she’d gotten in all right, only to see Keila sitting down on her front steps with the blogger, both of them drinking out of mugs and laughing. What the hell part of “ignore him and don’t say a word” did she not understand?

Jake watched, for the umpteenth time, the grainy, cell phone-recorded image of Keila speaking to the blogger who’d been lurking around her house Friday night. The video, first posted on the man’s blog, had somehow made its way onto Jake’s very own Facebook page over the weekend. Hackers, he felt, were a talented but sinister bunch.

Trust me, if I were dating Jake Kelly, I’d just own up to it. But he and I share absolutely no chemistry of that nature or any romantic connection whatsoever. We have nothing in common. Our one and only link is music education. That and the fact that I was once forced to give him a dance lesson. That’s it.

Tyrone hit pause, and Keila’s pretty, poised image froze on the screen. “Great. Keila appears to be one of the few women aged twenty-four to sixty-five who is not only immune to Jake’s charms, but vocal about it, too.”

“That’s not true! I’m immune to his charms,” Cate spoke up. “Especially today, he’s in a really foul mood.”

“Do we need to do damage control?” Tyrone asked.

“No,” Cate said. “This is good stuff. It takes some of the sheen off of that golden boy image and helps people relate to him more. Jake’s like a regular Joe now, dismissed by a pretty girl.”

Filip, who’d been sitting at Jake’s desk, laughed again, softly. He had been doing quite a lot of his quiet laughing this morning, enjoying himself just a little too much. Jake closed his eyes and swirled his tongue around his mouth before looking down at his watch.

“Keila’s here, Jake,” Cate declared, reading his mind. “And I’m betting you want to wring her neck, but you should take it easy on her. She didn’t ask for this kind of attention, she was just setting the record straight.”

Out of nowhere, the thought of what he really wanted to do to Keila came to mind: backing her up against the wall, and kissing her senseless tempted him. No chemistry? No connection?
Forced
to dance with him?
That
was setting the record straight? “You look dangerous, Jake, please calm down,” Filip said.

• • •

Keila had hitched a ride with Cate, who’d told her to wait outside so she could gauge Jake’s mood. Keila listened, relieved to learn that though Jake seemed to be in a bad mood, everyone else thought the video wouldn’t do any harm.

Smoothing down the front of her grey pleated skirt and matching fitted jacket, Keila thought it would be all right to go inside now. Her sister had lent her one of her fierce career outfits and Keila felt empowered in it. She’d gone for a classy business woman look today, wearing her hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Knowing she looked put together and professional made her feel better prepared to deal with Jake.