A Half Dozen Fools (20 page)

"Okay, so, I go outside the mansion with her, and she leads me to these hedges down in front of the dining room. Right underneath the windows. And, before I know it, she's pulling me down behind the bushes, making me fu--uh, have anal sex with her. Right there and then!"

"You had sex with her right outside the window--with everybody still at dinner?"

"Yes, that's what I'm telling you! All of them right up there at the dining room table, like a bunch of them. Including a senator! Cupla lawyers, special interests guys--all up there sipping cognac, smoking cigars."

"Ooh, that's terrible. Kind of creepy, I have to admit."

"Tell me about it."

Elyse stopped and considered the scenario. When she looked at Henry, she frowned, wondering how a woman could actually "make" a man do her in the rear. It would seem to require absolute compliance on his part...

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I was a teacher for a while. Took a bunch of psychology courses in college. And, well, I hate to say it, but that type of aberrant behavior? It strikes me as, like--I don't know, it smacks of self-abasement, or something. Probably stems from childhood issues, or uh, even abuse. I mean, doing that with all kinds of rich, powerful men right inside the house?"

Henry stopped, looked at her and frowned. Then, he shrugged it off. "Well, at any rate, I decided I'd better reassess the whole relationship."

A pun on the phrase, "the whole relationship," came to Elyse's mind as she thought of "hole relationship." But she kept that to herself.

Henry caught the wicked grin on her face however. "What?"

"Nothing." She decided to drop the subject once and for all by searching for closure. "I guess even with all that money strangeness sets in."

"Are you kidding?
Because
of all that money strangeness sets in."

Nuff said.

Sated with delicious food and drink, Elyse brushed her hands together and rose to use the ladies room. When she came back to the table, Henry was studying the tab with the intensity of a CPA searching for error. Rolling her eyes, she took her seat and dug inside her handbag.

"Here you go, Henry. That ought to cover me."

She placed two bills onto the check presenter open before him.

"Oh, no," he said without conviction. "I invited you."

"It's all right. I want to."

When he didn't hand them back, Elyse rose and told him she was going outside to flag a cab.

In front of the bistro, Henry joined her faster than she'd expected. She'd been considering catching a cab and taking off before he got out there. Now she wanted to say good night and go her own way, but he insisted on sharing a ride over to the West Side. Unable to come up with a good excuse for not doing so, an available cab pulled up, and she felt pressured to agree.

As they drove through Central Park, Henry snuggled up beside her, and Elyse twitched in revulsion. At the same time, flashes of her date with James came to mind.

Out of the blue, Henry asked, "Do you like pinot noir?"

Elyse shrugged. "Sometimes."

"I happened to have an exceptional one up in my place right now. Picked it up in Anderson Valley at a festival there. Got to drink it now before it peaks."

"How nice."

"I'd rather share it, of course, than drink it alone, if you'd like to join me."

"What? Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. You'll get to see my place."

When she said nothing, he added, "I'll be the perfect gentleman, I promise."

Elyse had heard that one before. By now, she had learned some men defined "gentlemen" differently than she. While his story about anal sex with the Nagan girl had totally turned her off, Elyse also doubted his definition of gentlemanly behavior matched hers.

"Thanks for the offer, Henry, but I'm going to have to take a rain check. I have to get up early in the morning."

"You sure? It's not every day--or night, I should say--that I offer to share my booty from the festival."

Elyse was not about to be seduced by ol' Henry. And, besides, the allure of her least favorite red grape hardly helped his cause. Then again,
nothing
he could say would entice her to go up with him, alone, to his place.

"That's sweet of you, Henry. I'm sure it's delicious, but, like I said, I'll have to take a rain check."

He turned and bored his eyes into her. She guessed this was an attempt to exude prowess, but it only served to repel her. She looked out the window at the passing trees in the park.

"That rain check may not be available again soon," he warned.

She continued staring out the window. "Well, I guess that's a chance I'll just have to take."

A beat of silence passed.

Henry suddenly asked, "What? Are you afraid to come up to my place?"

Her shields flew up, along with a surge of anger. She resented Henry putting her on the defensive after she'd thanked him and declined his offer. Henry, however, remained oblivious to the nuance of her shifting mood and continued trying to convince her.

"Because there's a doorman at my place, you know. You'll be safe. You can leave any time you want."

Elyse had lost her patience, but not her cool. Leaning forward, she leveled her question toward the cabby.

"What street are we at now, please?"

"Almost to Seventy-Ninth," he answered, his Brooklyn accent thick. "I hadda loop back south to cross over the park."

"No problem."

She plopped back against the seat and stared sullenly out the window, trying to steer clear of Henry's bulk and control her annoyance at how close he was sitting. She was also thinking how she was going to bitch Shar out the next day for leaving her with this pushy guy. He had a lot of nerve crowding her personal space. Aside from the fact that she wasn't giving him the slightest indication of any physical attraction, he hadn't even picked up the tab for her dinner! Bragging about his financial status after selling his architectural firm, then splitting the tab with a working girl was not an endearing quality. Had he truly been a gentleman, he would have handed back her money.

Finally, they reached Central Park West.

The cab driver asked, "Okay, where should I pull up to? You want me to drive down and loop back up Eighty-First, so you can get out in front? Or, you want to get out here on CPW?"

Henry turned toward Elyse--still, too close.

"What do you say, Elyse? Last chance to come up and enjoy some vintage wine."

He was practically breathing in her face, so she didn't mince words.

"I'm good, Henry. As a matter of fact, why don't you just get out right here at the light? Save the cabby from circling all the way around. Just cross the street from the avenue right over to your place."

Clearly, this was not a suggestion Henry cherished.

He harrumphed loudly. "Just get out at the light, you say? What--right here?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Henry, but I'm really tired. It'll just be so much easier to go straight up north from here."

Henry's expression shifted quickly as Mr. Joviality morphed into Mr. Hyde. His head shook angrily and his mouth turned downward in a frown. As incredulity shook his body, Elyse stared at him, surprised at how furious he was getting. When his mouth pulled up and down in wordless argument, he truly resembled a bullfrog. Elyse imagined a fly circling his nose, and him getting madder as he tried to zap it with his tongue, missing every round. Elyse would have laughed out loud at the image if he hadn't shot her such a nasty look. Finally, he slid his wide girth across the seat toward the other passenger door.

Since he was Jerry's friend, Elyse forced herself to be gracious. She spoke in a light, breezy voice belying her disgust.

"Henry, thanks again for your offer. It's just--I'm really super tired tonight."

"I'm sure you are. Driver, here--I'm getting out right here!"

Taken aback by his angry tone, pragmatism prevailed when Elyse considered he might not pony up his half of the fare. And it certainly looked that way when he scrambled out, slammed the door shut, and started walking away.

Elyse shot over fast and rolled the window down. "Oh, Henry," she called lightly, "your half of the fare?"

He stopped and turned, a bitter expression on his froggy face. "Wha-- Oh, for God's sake! How much is it?"

Elyse craned her neck over the front seat to read the meter.

"Twelve-fifty," the cabby called back.

Henry pulled a wad of cash from his pants pocket and flipped off a few bills. He stomped over and tossed them through the half-opened window, practically in Elyse's face. Recoiling from his rudeness, she snatched at the bills fluttering toward her lap. Even the cabby snuffed in disgust.

"You believe that guy?" Elyse asked.

"Friend of yours?"

"Friend of a friend. I got stuck with him because we both live on the Upper West Side."

"Nice," he said sarcastically.

"Well, at least he paid his share. Oh, wait." She counted the bills. "Not quite half!"

"Real fine fella, that one."

Elyse repeated her address to the driver and sat back. As the cab lurched forward, she decided she would never get together, ever again, with Mr. Henry Tilden, former architect and author of textbooks on famous, horny artists. Furthermore, she would let Shar know all about what happened first thing in the morning.

Then, in spite of what a rude jerk he'd been, she cracked up laughing. And she continued laughing all the way home.

As their buzz set in from several strong margaritas at the Flora Mexicana bar, Elyse and Dylan carefully crossed Columbus Avenue over to Lincoln Center.

An early spring was thawing Manhattan's wintry aches and pains, as reflected in the cheery glow of a rose-colored sunset. The fountain waters at Lincoln Plaza gushed with the reemergence of spirit suppressed by months of cold weather. The daylight hours had grown warmer, although evenings cooled as soon as the sun disappeared.

Elyse skipped up the plaza steps to the great landing, opened her arms wide and twirled.

"I love this place!"

Dylan nodded. "It
is
grand--ain't it?"

"Let's sit here by the fountain."

"Until my skinny butt gets too cold."

They sat on the granite ledge at the base of the fountain and watched the sun go down. As the night breeze set in, Elyse flipped her collar up around her neck and sat back to gaze at the Metropolitan Opera house.

"I always wanted to paint this place," she said casually. "Those huge windows? Just crying out for my brush to immortalize them on canvas. Not that I'd be the first..."

"Nor the last. But it'd be strictly from your point of view."

They both admired the great arched windows. After a moment, Dylan asked, "Who's stopping you, by the way?"

"Stopping me?"

"From painting Lincoln Center."

"Oh...nobody, I guess. One of these days..." She pressed her lips together. "Maybe I should start sooner rather than later. It might help me get over the trauma of my pathetic love life."

"Oh now, petunia. Don't get all depressed on me."

"I won't, but, geez, Dylan! What's up with me? I mean, look how many losers I've gone out with since I moved to New York."

Dylan looked at her in sympathy. "Got to admit, you were on quite a roll there for a while."

"I mean, who sleeps with a gun under his pillow?
My
bedroom pillow! For real?"

"That was pretty crazy. But, then again, we're talking about a chef--with Sicilian blood, no less."

"And what about before that, with Joel Lebanthal? I think I've found Mr. Perfect--smart, successful, creative, cool. Oh, by the way, just forgot to tell me one very important bit of information--he's married!"

"I think he has a bit of a coke habit, too. That's never good, not in the long run--"

"And, speaking of married--that no good, lying idiot of an actor! I was really stupid on that one."

"Oh, come on, Elyse. Don't be so hard on yourself. Bobby Kressner is gorgeous, rich, and famous. He was also dangling something you wanted like a carrot on a string. Promising to help with your career... I mean, who
wouldn't
go ga-ga for the guy?"

"Only, once again--there's wifey looming in the picture. Oh, wait--make that
ex-wife
--carrying his baby, no less. For God's sake! How long did he really think he could keep that one a secret?"

"Well, I don't think he was exactly thinking rationally about the whole thing. If you know what I mean.

"I'm a dumbo."

"You're not a dumbo, Elyse. They're the fruit cakes!"

"Yeah, but I can sure pick 'em, can't I?"

He made a little nudge of agreement, then said, "Don't beat yourself up, Elyse. At least, you nipped it quick with what's his name, the old fart, there. Jerry's friend."

"Who, Henry?"

"Yeah. Old froggy-face, or whatever you called him."

Elyse giggled in spite of misery over the errors of her ways. "That old letch."

She looked into the fountain waters sparkling wildly from the reflection of illuminated streetlamps.

"If only I could've fallen in love with James."

"Why do you say that?"

Elyse shrugged. "He's exactly the kind of guy my mother thinks I should marry."

"And what about you, petunia? What do you want?"

The lump in Elyse's throat kept her from answering.

"Hey, you all right, girl?"

She shook her head, too emotional to speak.

"Hey," Dylan said in a lighthearted voice, "you don't really have to answer me on that. Hell, I don't know what I want in a guy either!"

Her snuff of laughter squelched the threat of tears. "A half dozen fools," she suddenly blurted.

Dylan perked up. "A half dozen fools?"

"Including James," she stated philosophically. "Perfect except for too pushy."

"Oh, the guys, you mean. Counting James and Froggy--"

"Henry."

"Right, Henry. And the chef. And Joel. That makes, what--four?"

"Yeah. Don't forget the TV star."

"Oh, well, how could we ever forget Bobby Kressner?" He stopped and frowned. "Who else did I miss? Joel, Chef Rick, Bobby, James, and ol' Henry...that makes five."