Fallout (50 page)

SHE WAS MAD

But I was mad too. Not

at her, but that didn’t much

matter. Not right then.

In fact, I was mad enough

to let myself not feel too bad

about my little p.m. tryst.

But by bedtime, I felt emptied.

Nervous. Too, too alone.

I watched Nik come from

the shower, skin warm and

hair wet, and I wanted her

with every electron of my being.

Not just her body. All of her.

In bed with me, a piece of me.

No, all of me. Because without her,

I am nothing. I knew it then

and I know it now. And, thank

God, she allowed my hours

of self-pity, then showed me

again what it means to be

in love with an angel.

I WATCH HER NOW

My angel

getting ready for the Christmas

party. Perfuming her arms

and legs with ginger-steeped

lotion. Sliding sleek,

tawny

legs into gartered stockings.

Curling long ripples

into the honey lake of her

hair.

Enhancing already

impossible beauty with

a touch of blush against

flawless

skin. She slips into her

new dress—a seraph robed

in red. Then she turns to

face

me, the question in her eyes

as obvious as my answer:

“You are more than

beautiful. You are

perfection.”

BEST OF ALL

She is mine. I am acutely

aware of how other men stare

as we enter the ballroom.

They are not looking at me.

I love her on my arm,

an exquisite piece of jewelry.

A few of the women glare.

Nikki is the ruby

they wish they could

be. Their marble eyes follow

us to our table, leave us

there. I offer a chair

to Nikki. “Stay here.

I’ll go get us drinks.” The bar

is hosted, and no one

asks to see my ID,

so I order Chardonnay

for Nikki; Jack Daniels and

Coke for me. By the time

I get back to the table,

Rick Denio has closed

in. But star-striking Nikki

won’t be nearly as easy as

he expects it to be.

AMUSING TO WATCH, THOUGH

I circle the table, sipping my drink,

liking the whiskey burn. Rick is all

over Nikki, and she looks really

uncomfortable about it. He’s a jerk.

“Hey, Rick. Putting the moves

on my girl?” I hand Nik her wine.

Rick is in the game.
Your girl?

Didn’t know you had such good taste.

“There’s a lot you don’t know

about me. Uh, where’s your wife

tonight?” The station buzz is she

ran off. With another woman.

Rick’s face flames, but he remains

calm.
She had another party.

I can’t help but smile at the opening

he just gave me. “A girl party, huh?”

I haven’t had a spar-fest for a while.

This one could be fun, but Rick’s

done playing.
Not sure who all’s

there. Excuse me. There’s Montana.

THERE, INDEED, IS MONTANA

In a bold, backless dress, sparkly

silver. And with her, all decked

out in a complementary gray

tux, is … “Brendan,” I whisper.

Nikki looks. Looks again.

Harder.
Oh my God. You
do

look like him. I can’t believe

it. Hey, you’re okay, right?

Okay enough to chug my drink.

“Yep. Fine and dandy. Except

I need a refill. You good for now?”

She’s barely touched her glass.

Good. I can only carry two

glasses, anyway. I order twin JDs.

Doubles. Tip the guy five bucks

so he doesn’t reconsider the ID.

When I turn around, I’m only

half-surprised to see who has

joined Nikki at our table. Poor

Nik looks positively green.

Goes well with her pretty red

Christmas dress. Ha. I crack

myself up. Too bad I’m spoiling

to be in a very unfunny mood.

BEFORE I CAN SIT DOWN

Nikki sees my double-fisted

whiskey and Cokes. She jumps

to her feet, extracts the drinks

gently from my hands, sets them

on the table.
I’m starving. Let’s get

some food.
It is not a request.

Anger starts to build, like wasps

daubing mud. But then when

I glance at Montana, her eyes

harbor anxiousness. She wants

the evening to go well. So all

I do for the moment is say,

“Hey, Montana. You look great

tonight.” I know I should say

something to Brendan, but all

I can manage is a small wave.

Then I let Nikki steer me

toward the seafood-heavy buffet.

When Montana asked if they

could join us, I didn’t know how

to say no
, apologizes Nikki.

“Not your fault.” I concentrate

on loading my plate. Shrimp. Crab

legs. Oriental chicken salad.

Nikki’s plate makes mine look

greedy. “Aren’t you hungry?

I thought you were starving.”

I only said that because

I figured you should eat

before drinking all that booze.

The last thing you need to do
,

all things considered, is get

blitzed.
She cringes, as if hearing

the wasp daub. I will keep

my temper in check. But I also

plan on drinking whatever

I please. Free drinks don’t come

around every day. Still, I will

play her way. “I’ll be careful.”

I TRY, REALLY I DO

I eat everything on my plate.

(Chase every bite with a swig.)

Return for alcohol-absorbing pasta.

(Finish one drink; start second.)

Third trip is to the carving board.

(Polish off drink two. Back to bar.)

Finally, dessert. Chocolate cheesecake.

(Work on third—really fourth—JD.)

I think I’m doing pretty well.

(No way to converse when imbibing.)

And then Brendan starts talking.

(About how Sparks has grown. Swallow.)

Reminiscing about Wild Waters.

(His lifeguard days. Single-gulp glass drain.)