A Different Kind Of Forever (3 page)

He reached over and brushed something from her shoulder. “God, I hate those damn contests. Our publicist drives us all crazy. Do you want tickets? I could have some sent over.”

Diane took a half step away from him. There seemed to be a heat radiating from him, an energy that she could feel.
 

“Really.” His eyes were serious. “It’s the least I can do.” That grin again, sudden, a full blast of charm. “My dog stole your lunch.”

“You can do that? Just get tickets?”

“Hey,” he said with a cocky tilt of his head, “I’m in the band. Of course I can. How many daughters?”

“Three. But only two are home. Megan and Emily.”

“How old?”

“Old? Sixteen and fourteen”

“My nieces are that age. Do yours travel in packs, too?”

Diane smiled. “Yeah.”

He nodded. “Okay, so I’ll send over tickets. Your daughters can each bring a couple of friends. You and your husband want to come?”

“I’m divorced.”

“Okay, your date. I wouldn’t expect you to take teenage girls to a concert unprotected.”

“That would be wonderful.” Diane was taken by surprise. “You have no idea what that would mean. They’d clean their rooms for months.”

“No problem. Do you have a pen or something? Write down your address and I’ll get them to you.”

She turned and rummaged through her purse, dragging out a pen and note pad. She wrote her name, address and phone, and handed it to him.

“Diane Matthews,” he read. He stuffed the paper into his pocket. “So, tell me, Diane Matthews, are you a fan, too?”

She opened her mouth to lie, then caught the glint in his eye. “No, actually, I’m not. Nothing personal - I happen to think you guys are really talented. I was a big Motown fan. I never liked rock and roll.” She grinned. “Except, of course, the Beatles.”

“Of course. So who was your favorite?”

“Paul. Naturally. I had his picture everywhere. I was devastated when he got married. I spent years obsessing over the fact that I was too young for him. Who knew I’d end up being too old for him?”

Michael laughed in delight. “God, that’s great. I have to remember that for my sisters. They all loved Paul too.”

“How many sisters?” Diane sat back on the picnic table top, propping her feet on the bench.

“Three, all older than me. The youngest was ten when I was born.”

“You must have been spoiled rotten,” Diane said. “I bet you had them all wrapped around your little fingers.”

He sighed. “Oh, you are so right. I can’t believe some of the things I got away with. They are such great women.” His face changed. “My mother died when I was a kid. They all raised me.”

“I’m so sorry. But I bet they loved it, raising you.”

“Yeah.” He nodded his head. “My oldest sister, Marie, she used to get so upset when people would mistake me for her son, instead of her brother. She would yell at them, you know? But when she got home, we would all laugh about it.”

They were silent a moment, Diane staring at the tips of her shoes, and when she looked back over to him he was staring right at her, and she once again caught the force of his personality. A second later he shrugged and smiled.

“He’s still living here, my dad, in the same house we all grew up in. It’s great coming back.”

Diane was surprised. “You’re from here? I thought the band was from over in Hawthorn.”

“The rest of the guys, yeah. But I was born and raised right here in West Milton.”

“Wow. Did you go to Carver Mills High?”

“No. Fabian’s.” Fabian Academy was a very exclusive, private prep school. He noticed her raised eyebrows. “Before that it was Catholic school,” he added, shrugging. “For all of us. Saint Kate’s. Those nuns were ball-busters, I’ll tell you.”

“Me too. Catholic school, I mean. Not Saint Katherine’s. I’m from Ohio, originally, but I think Catholic School nuns all come from the same planet.” Michael sat next to her on the picnic table. “Did you have a Sister Elizabeth Immaculatta?”

“No, but I had a Marie Celeste.”

“Moustache?”

“One eyebrow and the mole on the chin.”

“Yes, yes!” They were laughing again.
 

Diane cupped her chin in her palm and looked hard at him. “You’re not what I expected in a rock and roll god.”

“Ouch.” He made a face. “Rock and roll god? Please. I’m a guy from Jersey who took piano lessons from a lady named Mrs. Foster and wore a uniform to school. I put together model cars.”

“Oh, my God. You were a geek.”

“Yes,” he said grinning ruefully, “and you must swear to never tell.”

“Might ruin your image?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’d never get laid again.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sorry. That was a very stupid, rock-and-roll-god kind of thing to say. Hey, would you like some lunch?”

“What?”
 

“Lunch. We could go to Weatherby’s, it’s right on the other side of the park.”

“What about Max?” She looked down at the dog, who lifted his head at the sound of his name. “Besides,” she said, looking at her watch, “I have class in about an hour and a half.”

“Well, that leaves Chickies.” He slid off the table and looked at her expectantly. “It’s close and we could eat outside. Are you hungry?”

Diane stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Sure, why not? I owe you lunch.”

His eyes were incredibly blue. Diane smiled.

“Lunch would be great.”

They walked to a small, roadside stand that opened directly onto the highway. They sat at a round plastic table under an umbrella, eating hot dogs and fries, while Max wolfed down a few well-done hamburger patties.
 

“So, what do you teach?” Michael asked her.

Diane shook salt on her fries and looked at him suspiciously. “How do you know I teach?”

“Well, you have class, right? You’re too well dressed to be a student.”

“Hmm. How diplomatic of you. I teach at Dickerson. English. This afternoon I have two senior seminars, one in Eighteenth Century Drama and one in Contemporary American Theater.”
 

“Wow.” He looked impressed. “Nothing like a little light reading in the afternoon.”

“It’s great, actually. I love drama and theater, and the kids are really into it.”

They started talking then, about books, then music, then traveling, which she loved and he hated. He was attentive, she was relaxed, and they laughed often. He had an animal vitality that she could feel as he leaned toward her, and he seemed to be listening closely to every word she said.

She looked at her watch. “Oh shit. I can’t believe it’s this late. I’ve got class.” She began to pick up her empty paper cup.

“No, let me do this if you’re late.” He put his hand on top of hers to stop her. She froze. His skin was warm. She stared at his hand covering hers. She lifted her eyes and saw that he was watching her.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said faintly. He seemed very close to her. He had not let go of her hand. “This was an unexpected pleasure, meeting you.”

“Me too.” He pulled back his hand. He was still looking at her. “About the concert - do you think you guys would want to come backstage after the show?”

“Are you kidding?” She blurted. “They’d be thrilled.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you next week.” He stood, hands pushed back into his jeans’ pockets, Max standing obediently at his side.

Diane nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and walked away, back across the road to the park. She thought he would be staring after her, and she wanted to turn to see, but she kept going, got into her car, and did not see him standing perfectly still, watching her drive away.

S
HE FOUND HERSELF
slightly unnerved by the incident, and was distracted and moody during class. Her Tuesday seminars were usually lively and enjoyable, but not today. After assuring yet another student that she was feeling fine, just thrown off balance by being late, she started for home. The girls would already be there, waiting for her, starting dinner. She wasn’t going to say anything about what happened, she decided. He probably wouldn’t send the tickets anyway. He had a million other things to do, and she didn’t want to get the girls’ hopes up.

She entered the house and could smell garlic. Good. She was starving. Maybe that was what was wrong with her.
 

“Hey, whatcha cooking? I’m famished.”

“Lemon chicken,” Emily called from the kitchen. “With noodles. There’s something here for you.”

Diane walked back to the kitchen. Emily was there, stirring something in a frying pan. Megan was diligently dipping chicken breasts into egg and bread crumbs.

“What are you talking about?” Diane asked, giving Megan a quick hug.

“Some guy dropped this off,” said Emily handing over a large manila envelope. Diane opened the clasp and emptied the contents onto the counter. There was a long white envelope and a number of white badges on black cords. She fumbled in her purse to find her glasses. She picked up a badge. Fleet Bank Arena Guest Pass. She turned it over. The NinetySeven logo. Double Dutch Tour.
 

“What is it?” Emily asked. “Did we win the lottery?”

“No.” Diane said in amazement. “Tickets to the concert, and back-stage passes.”

The girls both screamed. Megan grabbed the badge from Diane’s hand.
 

“Mom, how did this happen? Did you win the radio contest?”

“No.” Diane had opened the envelope. “I met Mickey Flynn in the park.” There were eight tickets inside, and a note on plain white paper. Emily read over her mother’s shoulder.

“Hey Diane, here are tickets and passes. Show your stubs to security and they will take you up to the VIP section. You should ask them to escort you back stage as well. Things get crazy after the show and I’d hate for you to be wandering around in all that madness. Michael.” Emily clutched the note in both hands. “Oh, Mom, eight tickets? Can I ask Allie? And Chloe? And Jordan?”

“You may each ask the Griffen girls and one other friend.” They both ran out of the kitchen, shrieking. “When you call Allie or Becca, I want to talk to Sue,” Diane called after them. She stood in her small, warm kitchen, smiling to herself, the black mood gone. She took a deep breath, pulled off her jacket and turned to the chicken, abandoned on the counter. He had done it.
 

She nodded her head to some unseen melody, sliding the chicken into the olive oil, checking to see if the large pot of water was boiling. She began the automatic motions of coming home – into the bedroom to take off her shoes, on to the den to dump her books and briefcase, then back to the kitchen. She checked her pots and pulled dishes from the cabinet.

There was a clamor at the front door – Alison Griffen and her sister Rebecca were calling, running upstairs. Moments later, Sue Griffen came into the kitchen. She was tiny, short and slender with wild dark curls shot with gray. She leaned her hip against the counter and picked up one of the badges.

“You got these tickets how?” she asked.

“I met Mickey Flynn in Bloomfield Park. Michael. His dog stole my pastrami sandwich. He felt bad and sent them over.”

“His dog stole your pastrami?” Sue echoed. “Holy shit. Are you kidding?”

Diane giggled. “No. It was hysterical. I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.”

There was more pounding of footsteps and all four girls crowded into the kitchen. Emily now had a serious look on her face.

“Mom, tell us everything that happened. You actually met him? Mickey?”

Diane turned down the heat under her dinner and took a breath. “Michael. I was having lunch in Bloomfield, over by the duck pond. He was there with his dog, which is huge, by the way, and the dog must have smelled my pastrami sandwich and raced over. I jumped up on the picnic table. The dog grabbed the sandwich from my hand. Michael was very sorry and offered the tickets as an apology. End of story.”

The girls were staring at her, open-mouthed.

“Oh, Mrs. Matthews,” Alison breathed. “Was he nice?”

“Yes, he was very nice. Charming.” Diane leaned close in to Alison. “He had charisma.”

Alison sighed and closed her eyes. “Charisma,” she repeated. Her eyes flew open. “What was he wearing?”

Sue rolled her eyes and started to speak, but Diane looked thoughtful.

“Well, he had on jeans, and a white polo shirt, you know, the kind with buttons at the neck?” The girls were all staring, nodding. “And black sneakers, and his hair was cut short, not a buzz cut or anything, but short, and he had some kind of string bracelet thing on, and a silver chain around his neck. And a very expensive watch.”

“Was he hot?” Alison asked.

“Allie!” Sue admonished.

Diane nodded. “Very hot.”

“Mom,” Emily sighed.

“What? He was hot. Not very tall, but adorable.” She leaned into Alison again. “Great butt.”

“Oh, Mrs. Matthews,” Alison breathed.
 

“Okay ladies,” Sue barked, “we’re outta here in ten. Make your phone calls.”

They swarmed out, all talking excitedly, and Sue raised her eyebrows.

“Great butt?”

Diane nodded. “Oh, yeah. His jeans weren’t tight or anything, but you could tell, you know?” Diane flashed a grin at her friend. “Nice arms, too.”

Sue looked at her closely. “You seem to have remembered this in great detail.”

“Hey, how often do I get to meet such a cute young guy?”

Sue looked at her sternly. “You teach at a college, Diane. Don’t you see cute young guys all the time? Like, in your class?”

Diane shook her head emphatically. “None of my students ever looked like him.”

Sue burst out laughing. “Oh God, you fell for him!”

Diane returned to the stove. “He was sweet. If I weren’t old enough to be his mother, I’d say yeah, I fell for him. So, want to come with me? Friday night? I am going to need help keeping these girls on a leash.”

“Sure, I’d love to go, but I think you need a date, maybe with a real man? When was the last time you saw a little action, anyway?”

“I had a perfectly nice dinner with a perfectly nice dentist a month ago and he never called back. You know I can never manage to get past a third date.” Diane glanced over her shoulder. “Please? We’ll get to go backstage.”