Tasting Fear (18 page)

I
t was him again. Right on time.

Nell ducked behind the dessert display case, eying him hungrily over the pecan fudge brownies, tingling from that guilty rush she got whenever she saw him. The only thing effervescent enough to ease the chronic, heavy ache in her middle that she was carrying around these days. She craved the feeling.

He checked to see if his usual table by the window was free. It was. The lunch rush was nearly over by the time he arrived; three-fifteen, regular as clockwork.

He took off his jacket, tossed it on the chair, and seated himself. He pulled out a laptop, opened it, and set to work, face grimly intent. As he had every day Nell had worked the lunch shift at the Sunset Grill.

For weeks he’d been coming every day, and she’d found herself starting to take all the lunch shifts she could, even though she earned way more tips with dinner. Broke as she was, that fleeting, ephemeral rush was worth more to her than the cash. She had it bad.

Considering that the guy remained utterly oblivious to her existence.

She polished her glasses, perched them back on her nose, and fished the order she had just taken out of her short-term memory. She dished up ratatouille for the table of women underneath the aquarium, sneaking peeks as she drizzled vinaigrette and tossed grated beets and sunflower seeds on their salads. She loaded the tray and chose a path through the restaurant that brought her by his table. Close enough to smell the detergent his crisp white shirt was washed in. The next sneaky sweep past him garnered her a hungry whiff of his aftershave. Mmm. Nice. Those shoulders, wow. Flaring out, so broad and thick. Solid-looking. He wasn’t movie-star handsome at all, not with that narrow, angular face. She’d studied his features minutely, reviewing them in her dreams and daydreams, but every time she saw the real flesh-and-blood thing, it was a fresh thrill. She loved the severity of his features. That bladelike nose with a crooked bump on it, the black, slashing eyebrows set at a sharp upward angle. His cheeks were lean, with grooves flanking his mouth, and he had crinkled lines around his eyes, as if he’d squinted into desert sun. His mouth was grim, his black hair short, sticking up wildly. She doubted it was due to styling gel. He was not the type to affect messy hair on purpose. This guy could not possibly be bothered.

She peeked at his computer screen from behind his broad, muscular back. It was full of incomprehensible code. She forced herself to march away without looking back. She was going to be realistic and mature and ignore him today. After one more tiny, hungry peek.

Behind the counter, her boss, Norma, looked over from the mushrooms she was grilling. “Here again, eh, Nelly? Can’t get enough of that strip steak sandwich, I see. Before I lose you in a romantic haze, hon, I need to ask a favor.”

Gack. Who knew her silly crush had been so obvious? Nell grabbed the bread knife and began slicing. “Ask away.”

“Easy does it, hon. That knife is sharp. Can’t help but notice that you never take your eyes off the fellow. Can’t blame you. If I were twenty-five years younger…hell, maybe even just fifteen years younger…” Her voice trailed off, eyes twinkling, waiting for Nell to soften, but Nell just pressed her lips together and cut more bread. “Looks like a workaholic, though,” Norma mused. “Always typing, never a glance at the cute waitress serving him. Take it from an expert. Leave that guy alone.”

“Thanks for the advice, but it’s not relevant,” Nell snapped, tossing bread into baskets. “I’m not getting anywhere near him.”

“Whatever you say. Are you free to work an evening shift? Kendra just called in sick. The girl’s driving me crazy. Always at death’s door.”

“Sorry, Norma, but I’m teaching a discussion section tonight for the summer school American poetry lecture course.”

“I was afraid of that. Oh well. We’ll be shorthanded, but we’ll survive. Get some coffee for that hardworking fellow before he starts feeling neglected. Do you absolutely have to wear those glasses, hon?”

Nell snatched her glasses off and polished them defensively.

“Unless you want me to bump into tables! What’s wrong with them?”

“They just make you look so, I don’t know. Intellectual, I guess.”

“Norma, I’ve got news for you. I
am
intellectual!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, hon. Your eyes are so pretty, I just want the world to see them.” Norma tucked a hank of curly brunette hair behind Nell’s ear, chucked her on the chin, and tugged down the front of Nell’s apron so it showed more bosom. “For God’s sake, Nelly. Use those assets of yours. Work it. Go on, scram! Get the man’s order!”

Nell poured a cup of coffee and scurried out with her order pad, self-consciously tugging her orange apron bib back up over her cleavage. She felt nervous and fluttery every time she took his order. God knows why. He’d never glanced up from his screen. She could take his order stark staring naked, and he would never notice.

She placed the coffee on the table. Without moving his eyes from the screen, he reached for it and took a swallow. “Thanks,” he said, in that resonant, distant voice that made her shivery. “The usual, please.”

“Okay,” she replied. “We have three soups today: minestrone, French onion, and three bean. Which would you prefer?”

A small frown furrowed his forehead, but he didn’t look up. “I don’t care. Whichever is fine.”

“One bowl of whichever, coming right up,” Nell murmured, staring at the cowlick in his hair. There was raffish stubble on his tense-looking jaw. His cuffs were turned up, revealing tough, ropy muscles and black hair that lay flat and silky against the golden skin of his forearms.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, fingers tapping.

“Um, no, of course not.” Nell fled, flustered, and ran herself promptly into a table edge. She bit back a yelp. She would have a bruise tomorrow. A stern reminder of what happened when one gave in to adolescent urges. The fact that Norma had noticed was proof that she’d let her crush get out of hand. She put the order in and began assembling his lunch. Norma glanced over with professional interest. “The usual, I assume?”

Nell nodded, popping a roll into the toaster grill. She scooped an enormous serving of Knorma’s Knockout Coleslaw onto a small plate.

“You’re ruining me with those portions, hon. He’s not worth it.”

“Cut it out, Norma,” Nell snapped, preparing the garnish. Thick slices of tomato, radish rosebuds, and carrot curlicues. She tossed on a handful of alfalfa sprouts, hesitated for a moment, and then cut a substantial slice of sweet onion and added it with a flourish, since his breath was neither her responsibility nor her problem. The toaster pinged. She pulled out the roll, avoiding Norma’s gaze.

“What soup did he want?” Norma inquired.

“He doesn’t care. I’m going to give him the three bean.”

“Really? I don’t know, hon. Minestrone might be safer.”

Nell ladled a bowl full of soup. “He’ll learn to express a preference if he doesn’t like it,” she said in a clipped voice. When she hefted the tray, the soup slopped dangerously near the edges of the bowl.

“Easy does it, Nelly,” Norma teased. “He’s not going anywhere without his lunch.”

Nell gave her a withering look and carried out the guy’s soup, head high.

When she served the rest of his lunch, the only place to put the plate was the extreme edge of the table. It looked so precarious. He hadn’t touched the soup yet. His long, graceful hands tapped ceaselessly on the keyboard.

“That’ll be all,” he muttered, staring fixedly at the screen.

Nell headed back to the kitchen, mentally ticking off issues to cover in her discussion section on Emily Dickinson’s poetry tonight. The sad plight of women in nineteenth-century America. Poverty. Powerlessness. Arid celibacy. Secret love. Constraint. Corsets. The life of the imagination. Ooh, ouch. It was the story of her life. Except for the corsets.

“Everything go smoothly?” Norma asked in a sly voice.

“No problems.” Nell loaded ice water on a tray, marched past Norma with her chin up, and proceeded to trip on the plastic mat.

Crash.
Glass broke, heads turned, water pooled, ice cubes rolled.

Nell got the dustpan and started picking up shards, mouth tight.

“You’re too tense, Nelly.” Norma put her hands on her substantial hips and scowled in concern. “You need to get out more.”

“Norma, get real! My life is nuts right now!” she flared. “My sister was stalked and attacked by a slobbering maniac, I’m short my rent because of all that lost work after the Fiend jumped Nancy, my thesis adviser is on my case night and day, I can’t seem to sleep anymore, and Lucia…oh, God. Never mind. Please, just leave me alone, okay?”

Her voice choked off. Tears slipped down her face. She was mortified, but Norma just tugged her up to her feet and enveloped her in a big hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about Lucia. I didn’t mean to stress you. I know you’re grieving, and what happened to Nancy is terrifying, but things have worked out, right? Things are calming down, and Lucia would have wanted you to get out, have fun! You know that.”

Nell polished her tear-splattered glasses. “I appreciate that you worry about me, but I am not in the mood for fun, and I can’t take this lecture right now,” she quavered. “I need to get dessert for table six, table eight needs their check, and Monica is taking a cigarette break—”

“Forget I said anything. I must say, though, I’m glad to see you taking a healthy interest in a good-looking guy. It’s a good sign.”

Nell stomped out to dump broken glass into the trash. Her eyes were red and puffy, but who cared? The black-haired man would never notice. When she refilled his coffee, she asked, “Care for dessert?”

“The usual,” he said coolly.

Nell hesitated for a moment, then took her courage in both hands. “Sure you don’t want to try something new? We have strawberry shortcake today, and the pecan fudge brownies are wonderful.”

His hands froze over the keyboard as he processed this. “I’m sure they’re all good.” His voice had a dismissive edge. “Give me the usual.”

Nell sighed and went to get a slice of apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream. As always, when he finished, he closed his laptop, dropped a bill on the table that covered the check as well as a moderate-to-generous tip, and left. The guy had the imagination of a large rock. And the manners of a hibernating snake. To hell with him, anyway.

The rest of the shift was a tired blur. She helped Norma prep for dinner and went to the bathroom to freshen up before her discussion section. She took off her glasses, leaned close to the mirror, and peered.

Norma was right. The round glasses were nerdish. And the long, unstyled mop of dark curly hair was juvenile and nondescript.

She twisted her hair into a knot, letting curly wisps fall down around her ears and jaw. Marginally better. Her eyes were her best feature. Dark, with long lashes and eyebrows that she had to pluck or else they did a coup d’etat and took over her face. A nice mouth, she conceded, if a little large for her jaw. Maybe she should try contacts.

But why was she stressing over her looks, anyway? Who was noticing them? She had bigger things to worry about. She splashed water on her face, hefted her bag onto her shoulder, and sprinted for the bus.

Her discussion group went as expected. A healthy two-thirds of the group actually attended, and out of that number, only three appeared to be sleeping, which wasn’t bad, statistically speaking. They had quite a spirited discussion about Emily Dickinson’s love poetry. One serious young man with stringy hair said earnestly, “Like, how do you know Emily Dickinson never had, you know, sex? Maybe she, like, had secret lovers! Some of those poems are totally scorching! I can’t believe that she could feel like that if she never, you know, got any!”

“Believe it,” Nell said without thinking. Fifteen faces gave her speculative looks. She noticed that the young blond man and she had the same type of glasses, and felt a sudden, desperate urge to change her style. “Let’s wrap it up for tonight,” she said. “I expect a five-to-ten page paper from everyone by Wednesday.”

“But I have a physics midterm to study for!” one student whined.

“And I have to write a philosophy paper by Monday!” another lamented. “Can’t we have till Friday?”

“Wednesday,” she said firmly to a chorus of groans.

Nell trudged through the bustling, congested city campus to the English department offices. The office door opened as she approached, and Maria, a fellow grad student, came out holding a fax. “Hey, Nell. Take a look. I was about to post it. It might be just up your alley.”

Nell looked it over.

WANTED

Writer-Editor-Proofreader for interactive fantasy game project

EXPERT IN
POETRY

Good Pay Flexible Hours

Call 555–439-8218 Ask for Duncan

“Weird, huh?” Maria commented.

Nell looked up at her. “Interesting.”

“Thought you might think so. Good night, Nell.”

Nell said good night absently. What on earth would a software outfit want with poetry? She scribbled the number, wondering exactly what “good pay” meant to this Duncan. She often picked up temp legal secretary jobs at night, when she was broke. They paid well but exhausted her. She was always alert for a job that would pay enough so she could quit working at the Sunset and live a life that resembled normal, if such a thing existed. Though she’d begun to doubt it, with the bizarre things that had been happening since Lucia’s death.

And she wasn’t going to think about Lucia, or she’d cry again. She fingered the pendant Lucia had given her. The golden rectangle with its halo of swirling, white gold lacework was warm from her body’s heat. A talisman of love, but a shadow of fear clung to it. Her fingers tightened around the thing in a possessive spasm. The Fiend had taken Nancy’s pendant. It was stupid for Nell to wear hers around. A blatant provocation, even. But she felt naked and defenseless without it.

She’d compromised by lengthening the chain and tucking the pendant inside her dress, where it usually got wedged between her boobs. She had pepper spray in her bag. And she was going to sign up for self-defense. Maybe she’d even learn to use a gun.