Table for Two (24 page)

Cassie took one; Drake watched a passing cyclist.

"This is delicious," she said, amazed. "Drake, taste one."

He glanced at the pastry Cassie held out to him. "I trust your judgment."

"Tell me this isn't the work of a future pastry chef," Pamela said.

Drake shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

She clasped her hands together. "Please give me a chance, Mr. Henson."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, reluctantly impressed by the young woman’s tenacity. He had always felt that persistence should be rewarded somehow. "I'll think about it."

She let out a little squeal and grabbed his arm. "Oh, thank you."

"I only said I'd think about it," he grumbled.

"I know, that's a big improvement." She handed Cassie the container. "Enjoy." She rushed off.

Cassie watched her go, thoughtful. "I wonder why she called me Mrs. Henson. I'm not wearing a ring."

Drake scowled. "Because she knew that would please me. The little brat."

She smiled. "Stop scowling. She's adorable."

"Like a little pit bull."

"Why won't you offer her a job?"

"Because she doesn't need my help. She comes from a good family and goes to a prestigious school. What good would my helping her do? She has plenty of opportunities."

"So?" she said, not completely understanding his logic. "That doesn't mean she won't work hard. These pastries are good."

"Great. Then she'll go to a fine culinary institute and make a good living. You don't have to worry about her. I try to help the underprivileged. My goal is—" He abruptly stopped.

Cassie followed the direction of his gaze and saw a group of teenaged boys hanging outside a store. She tugged on his jacket. "What's wrong?"

His voice was almost too low to hear, heavy with a layer of anger. "One of those boys is supposed to be at work."

She grabbed his arm before he went toward them. "Well, don't talk to him now in front of his friends."

His eyes blazed, but she knew the anger wasn't directed at her. "Why not?" he asked in a harsh tone.

"Because you'll embarrass him."

He smiled coldly. She immediately let his arm go. "Good." He walked up to the crowd. "Cedric, you're supposed to be at work."

Cedric sent him a bored look. "I'm there, man, in a minute."

"You don't have a minute. You either leave now or there won't be a job for you."

Cedric turned to his friends. "I'll check with you. I've got business." Once his friends were out of hearing he said, "Get off my back. You think you're my old man or something?"

"I'm your boss. The man who pays your salary."

Cedric flashed a superior grin. "Man, you ain't doing me no favors with your little restaurant job. I could make your salary and more in two months."

"True," Drake said slowly. "But would you live to spend it all?"

Cedric rubbed his nose and kept his smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We all gotta die sometime."

"I understand—"

His voice hardened. "You don't understand a damn thing. You've got your fancy car, money, your little restaurant." He glanced at Cassie. "And that—"

Drake's eyes turned to stone. "Whatever you say about her, you say about your mother." He measured him in one quick glance. "A woman I feel sorry for." He turned.

Cedric watched him, pushing down any feelings of regret with anger. He was glad to be rid of that job. Glad to become his own man. He could do better than cleaning up after other people and taking orders all day. Henson didn't know what the real world was about. It was about honor. And there was no honor in being a damn busboy. He turned to his friends, who were laughing at some old lady struggling with her bags as she crossed the street, her panty hose slipping down to her ankles. His first impulse was to go and help her, but he brushed the thought aside and joined in with his friends. Where would he be without them?

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cassie asked, watching Drake check his pockets and swear.

"I forgot my cigarettes."

"That's not what I mean."

"No. I don't want to talk about it." It made him angry. It angered him to see Cedric throw away all that he was offering. It angered him that he had failed.

She tugged on his sleeve. "You haven't failed him. He made a choice."

He slanted her a quick glance.

"The real issue is that you now have a position free for someone who will appreciate it."

Drake shook his head and walked numbly through the crowd. Suddenly, he felt soft fingers curl around his hand. He glanced down and felt some of his anger ebb as he faced the truth, then gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

* * *

"Do you want me to call Pamela for you?" Cassie asked once they'd reached his place.

Drake placed the new bowl on the dining table. "I don't have her phone number."

"That's supposed to go in the kitchen."

He picked up the bowl and moved it there.

"You do have her number," she said when he returned to the living room.

"Where?"

"She taped it to this container."

"Figures. If I'm not careful she might tattoo it to my— arm," he said, censoring himself.

She rested a hand on her hip and studied him. "You don't understand her persistence, do you?"

He shrugged.

"A good home doesn't automatically equal opportunity. Sure, things come more easily, but you still have to fight for what you want. I got into college with my parents' help, but didn't know what I was going to do until Mrs. Soughton told me I should be a speaker. If she hadn't been my mentor, I could have floundered like a lot of kids. The people who succeed are the ones who work at it. The ones who want an easy break, either rich or poor, are the ones left behind."

Drake pinched the bridge of his nose, stared at the phone for a moment, then dialed.

* * *

Cassie was right. Success came to those who worked for it and Pamela would definitely be successful. In only two weeks she had blended into the staff, secured three repeat customers, and elevated the overall of appearance of the restaurant.

"Have you told her what a wonderful job she is doing?" Cassie asked as they sat in his restaurant before the dinner crowd came.

Drake shrugged. "Why would I? She knows."

"Everybody needs an ego boost sometimes."

He rested his chin on his fist and watched the tables being set. "I doubt it."

"Since you missed my last class on social graces, let me show you the art and benefit of flattery." She turned. "Pamela, come here."

Pamela approached the table wringing a dishrag with nervous fingers. "Yes, Mrs. Henson?"

"Actually, I'm not—"

"She has something to say to you," Drake cut in. Cassie narrowed her eyes; he smiled.

"I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful job you're doing," she said. "You keep the customers happy and we adored your cream pastries."

Pamela loosened her grip on the rag and sent Drake a quick look. "I could make you some more if you'd like."

"We would love that."

The girl smiled and went back to her duty, completing it with extra care.

Cassie looked at Drake with triumph. "You can now thank me since you'll have an even more productive employee and free cream pastries."

He winked. "You're a true talent."

"It doesn't take talent, just common courtesy." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "It doesn't hurt to be nice."

"I am nice." He straightened. "She has a job, doesn't she?"

Cassie stood. "I don't know why I try."

"I'll see you tonight."

"I might find somebody nicer and not come."

"Fortunately, I have many other talents." He clasped his hands behind his head and grinned. "You'll come."

* * *

Neither said anything when she arrived on at his place that evening. He just grinned knowingly and she frowned at him. Once inside, they snuggled on the couch and settled in for a pleasant evening watching TV. They were laughing at a sitcom when Drake's cell phone rang.

"Hello? Yeah, she's here." He looked down at Cassie, who was resting her head on his lap. "Sure, that sounds fine. Okay, see you then." He flipped it closed.

She glanced up at him, curious. "Who was that?"

"Adriana."

Cassie narrowed her eyes. "Adriana called your cell phone? How did she get the number?"

"I gave it to her." He reached over her and grabbed chips from the bowl on the coffee table.

"Why?"

He frowned. "In case she got lonely. Why else?"

She pinched him.

He rubbed his arm. "It's in case something happened to you, she could reach me."

"You're so sweet." She took some of his chips.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same," he mumbled, grabbing some more.

"Why did she call?"

"She wants to invite us out. Her boyfriend is playing at the Colossal." Cassie sat up, alarmed. "Oh, no, and you said yes?"

"Sure, why not?"

She fell back into the cushions. "Because we are going to regret this."

* * *

Her words were prophetic.

"I had a nightmare similar to this once," Drake said. "Of course I had the benefit of waking up then."

Drake, Cassie, and Adriana sat in the dimly lit room of the Colossal listening to a rock band screech its way to the crescendo of an unintelligible song. The Colossal was a known platform for people hoping to display their talents, or lack thereof, to a receptive audience either too bored or too drunk to boo them off the stage. The wallpaper was a metallic green that caused everything to shimmer as if one had stepped into the ocean, sipped the water, and started hallucinating.

Cassie had enjoyed coming to the place with Adriana when they were both in their college bohemian phase, but now looking around at the crowd that had more piercings than a voodoo doll and clothes that were most likely tattooed on, she felt too old for the place.

She picked up her tequila sunrise, unsympathetic to Drake's discomfort. "I had warned you."

"Mike's much better than this group," Adriana assured him. She could pass for a mermaid with her hair piled high on her head and falling down her face in ringlets. Her bluish gray top changed colors when she moved and her earrings resembled starfish. In contrast, Cassie wore a simple gold dress and teardrop earrings.

"That's not saying much." Cassie frowned. "That's like saying dirt tastes better than mud."

Adriana ignored her and clapped when the band finished.

Cassie nudged Drake as Corrosion of Sanity, Mike's band, entered the stage. He turned to her, curious.

She handed him two earplugs. "You will need these. Trust me."

He grinned and they both plugged their ears before Adriana could notice.

* * *

Mike approached their table at the end of his performance. Cassie and Drake pretended to drop something so that they could remove their earplugs. Adriana greeted him with a hug.

"What did you think?" he asked. He was a large man the size of a buffalo and the color of bark with small eyes that made him look as if he were constantly squinting. He had a shaved head and wore two silver hoop earrings, a brown leather vest, and jeans.

"It was wonderful," Adriana said, touching his arm in a light affectionate gesture.

His slitty gaze shifted to Cassie. "And you?"

Cassie hesitated. From behind his broad frame she saw Adriana mouth, "Be nice."

"It was amazing." She never knew music could sound so awful.

He nodded and glanced at Drake. "What about you, man?"

Drake took a long swallow of his drink and everyone held their breath until he set the glass down. "I think you could set a guitar on fire, but should leave the vocals to someone else." Preferably someone who could sing.

A stunned silence dropped like an atomic bomb, leaving everyone shell-shocked.

"You think?" Mike asked, his eyes narrowing to crescent moons.

"Yes."

Mike threw his head back in a shout of laughter and happily punched Drake in the shoulder. Cassie winced for him. Drake didn't flinch. "You really think I can rip, man?"

He nodded. "Focus your energies and you'll discover that your fingers are going to take you places."

Mike slapped him on the back. "Come on, man. I want you to meet the guys and tell them what you said. I've been trying to tell them to get a new singer." He headed toward the back room. Drake shrugged at the two speechless women and followed.

"What was that?" Adriana finally asked, feeling it was safe to breathe.

Cassie held her head. "God, for a second there I thought Mike was going to rearrange Drake's face."

"He sure took a risk by being honest like that."

"It seems Drake likes to take risks."

Still stunned, they hardly listened to the next band on the stage.

An hour later, Drake and Mike returned, looking like old buddies. Drake had his black jacket swung over his shoulder and his blue shirt hanging out of his trousers while Mike walked with a hand on Drake's arm, his vest open.

"Where have you two been?" Adriana asked.

"They've been drinking," Cassie said. She watched in disgust as Mike pulled out his chair as if it were a monumental task.

"I'm afraid only one of us has," Drake said, steadying Mike before he slid out of the chair.

"What have you done to him?" Adriana demanded as her date began to make a pillow out of napkins.

"Adriana," Drake said with the patience of a knowledgeable older brother, "he's a great guy and a lot of fun, but you and I both know you deserve better."

Cassie grinned and nudged him. "Go on," she urged. "Give Mike the lecture you gave Kevin, except mention the drinking."

"What lecture?" Adriana asked.

"Never mind. Cassie's about to get one of her own. Thanks for the experience." He dragged out Cassie's chair and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go."

Once they were outside, Cassie shook her head in frustration. "I knew this night would be awful."

Drake cupped his ear. "What?"

She raised her voice a fraction. "I said, I knew this night would be awful."

"What was that?"

She glared at him, catching his joke. "I suppose I could resort to sign language. How could you say those things to Mike?"