Enemies and Playmates (3 page)

“He begged me for your number. Not that he couldn’t have gotten it himself anyway. You know, he’s a smart guy, he could probably get a phone number without my help.”

“Did you stay long?” Lauren asked. Not that she really cared. Or so she told herself.

“Till closing,” Carrie said. “But he only stayed about a half hour after you left.” Carrie chuckled and added, “Just long enough to get your number.”

As Lauren flipped her phone shut, she glanced at the clock. 6:17. She tugged on her jeans, suddenly worried that he’d show up early and she wouldn’t be ready. Telling herself that she had no more time to rummage through her clothing in search of the perfect shirt, if in fact one existed, she grabbed a violet sweater and pulled it over her head.

Standing in front of her mirror, she brushed her auburn hair for the fifth time. It didn’t look any different when she’d finished. Maybe she needed more makeup. More likely, she needed a miracle.

“This is it,” she said to her reflection.

Lauren grabbed her purse and went down to the living room. She found her mother sitting on the couch, sipping coffee from a large mug. She hesitated, wanting to offer words of comfort, to let her mother know she’d wanted to help that morning. But she said nothing because that was how it was in her family. They’d all been conditioned to pretend it wasn’t happening.

If it weren’t for the slightest puffiness below her mother’s left eye, Lauren never would have noticed the bruise at all. Her mother did an amazing job concealing bruises with make-up. But, of course, her mother was an expert by now.

Lauren fiddled with the ruby ring her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday, at the party her father had not shown up for. “You’ll be okay tonight?” she asked.

Lauren didn’t have to ask what her mother meant by that. Not all relationships had to be violent. They danced around the subject now and then, though her mother never actually came out and talked about it.

The doorbell rang. Lauren’s knees were weak as she made her way to the front entrance. She stood in the foyer a moment, inhaled deeply, then pulled the door open.

Lauren lingered in the kitchen an extra minute, listening to her mother and Jesse make small talk. Then she took another deep breath and went back out. “Ready?” she asked.

Jesse nodded. “Sure am.”

***

Jesse parked on the top floor of the five-story parking garage. He and Lauren took the elevator down, then strolled along the street, past the historical buildings scattered throughout Boston’s North End. Lauren was surprised to find herself wishing that Jesse would hold her hand.

Lauren wanted to tell him that he couldn’t be further from the truth. If the date had ended at that moment, it would already exceed any previous dates she’d had. How star struck did that sound? She looked up at him, met his eyes, and smiled. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind.

They stepped inside the small Italian restaurant. Lauren had never been there but she knew its reputation well. Everyone had heard of the place. Inside, it looked like a chunk of Italy had been dropped on the streets of Boston. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce permeated the air.

The maitre d’, complete with Italian accent, sat them at a back booth. Jesse promptly ordered a bottle of Le Macchiole Paleo Rosso. He did it with a confident ease that said he was familiar with ordering good wine and speaking Italian. But there was nothing in his tone to imply that it mattered to him in the least.

“I love Italian food,” Lauren said. As she spoke the words, she thought how dumb she sounded. Like a teenager on a first date.

“Yeah, me too.”

Lauren met Jesse’s gaze and warmth spread all the way to her toes. The waiter, who introduced himself as Antonio, brought their wine. He poured a sample, then waited while Jesse tasted it. With Jesse’s okay, he filled their glasses and left each of them an embossed menu with a leather cover.

Lauren immediately opened her menu, grateful for the distraction. She and Jesse discussed their choices, finding they had many of the same favorite foods. And many of the least favorites. When the waiter returned, they made it easy for him by ordering an appetizer to split and duplicate dinners, right down to the same salad dressing.

Lauren tried to study Jesse without being obvious. His dark wavy hair was slightly unruly. He was freshly shaven, though a permanent hint of a shadow remained. And he had the most intense eyes she had ever seen. Dark, mysterious, as if a world of secrets lay hidden behind them.

Jesse met her eyes. His smile was disarming. Lauren searched for something to say that wouldn’t come out sounding lame. She decided work was a safe topic. “So what kinds of things do you investigate?” she asked.

“Just about anything,” Jesse replied. “Missing persons, insurance fraud… whatever comes my way.”

“You do that for my father?”

“No. Well, sometimes. Occasionally he needs information on or for clients. I don’t work for him often. I’m self-employed, so I go where the work is.” Jesse sipped his wine. Still holding Lauren’s gaze, he said, “What about you? Are you planning on becoming a lawyer too?”

“No. I’m sticking with journalism. That’s my major.”

Jesse questioned Lauren about her choice as if he was truly interested. She told him she was in her last year at Harvard. She suddenly thought that sounded utterly stuffy but Jesse didn’t seem fazed one way or the other. She’d been working at the paper since she graduated high school. One of these days she hoped to actually write something the paper would print.

The waiter arrived with their meals. As they ate, Lauren grew more curious about the man across from her. She said, “Did you always want to be a private investigator?”

“No, when I was a kid I had big plans.” A hint of playfulness crept into Jesse’s eyes. “I was going to be the next Superman. But my sisters got sick of me stealing their tights and I could never figure the damn things out anyway.”

“No.” Lauren pushed her food around with her fork. “My father doesn’t believe women should be lawyers. We’re too emotional.” Her father also liked to say that women were too weak. But Lauren left that part out.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to go into law, anyway,” Lauren said. “But I think my father’s disappointed about my brother not going in that direction.”

“What does your brother want to do?”

“Anything other than become a lawyer.”

Jesse’s eyebrows lifted but he made no comment. Lauren shifted in her seat. Time to move the conversation away from her family. “Is your family from Boston?” she asked.

Lauren listened with amusement as Jesse talked about his sister and her husband. She could relate to the pretense and the condescending attitudes he described. She lived it to the extreme.

Did others perceive her family as pretentious? Probably. Though her father didn’t pretend. He truly believed he was better than anyone else.

Good question. Too many years pretending life was something it wasn’t. Too much time spent suppressing their emotions, to the point where they showed none at all. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe just a stage.”

Lauren managed to steer the conversation away from her family throughout the remainder of dinner. They shared a decadent dessert, a mound of vanilla ice cream laced with rich raspberry sauce, covered in a white chocolate shell and topped off with real whipped cream. Jesse spoke with ease about his life while Lauren wondered what his lips would feel like against hers.

As they walked out to the parking lot, Jesse took Lauren’s hand. The warmth sent a shiver through her. She’d never wanted someone so badly. Yet, the thought of letting him close terrified her.

“Do you want to go to a club? Or a movie or something?” Jesse asked.

“I really shouldn’t,” Lauren said. “I’ve got a paper due Monday morning that I haven’t even started yet.”