Winner Takes All (5 page)

Finally, it worked.

The woman opened the door. “I’m sorry. We’re closed.”

“I know and I’m so sorry to bother you, but this is an emergency.” Eva tried not to flinch under the saleswoman’s piercing gaze. “Really, I swear.”

She tilted her head consideringly. “A friend’s birthday?”

“Her thirtieth.”

The woman stepped aside. “All right. Come in.”

“Thank you so much,” Eva said, sighing in relief. “I’ll take whatever you throw at me.”

“How much do you want to spend?”

Eva hadn’t given this particular issue any thought. In fact, she hadn’t given Jenny’s birthday any thought at all. “Fifty,” she said. Guilt was an expensive proposition.

With Eva’s help, the woman pulled together a lovely box of truffles that she then wrapped with pretty red and blue ribbon. “How’s that?”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Eva said, handing over her credit card. “Much better than a stapler.”

The woman agreed without hesitation and ran the card through the machine. “Yes, most of our customers think so.”

“Actually, while I’m waiting, I’ll take one of the dark chocolate truffles,” she said, looking into her wallet and noticing for the first time a regrettable lack of cash. Ten bucks wouldn’t come close to covering her portion of dinner, and charging dinner with a large group was always difficult because restaurants refused to divvy up a check among five or six cards. Oh, well, there was nothing she could do about it now. Maybe in the lull between dinner and dessert she could run out to an ATM.

“Sure, that’ll be ninety-five cents. And here’s your receipt.”

Eva counted out ninety-five cents in change, signed her name and dashed out of the store with a final thanks. Now to find a cab. Eva was prepared for everything that could go wrong to go wrong, but she flagged one down with little trouble. Thank God it’s not raining, she thought as she climbed inside. “Avenue C between Sixth and Seventh.”

The cab ride there was fast and painless, as she knew it would be, but she still arrived at nine-thirty on the dot. She swiped her card, added a tip and climbed out of the car, wondering what to do now. She didn’t feel like skulking in a doorway, so she went into the restaurant. It was highly unlikely that Jenny would arrive exactly on time.

“Eva!” a voice behind her screeched. “What are you doing here?”

Damn it.
She greeted her friend with an enthusiastic hello, and hiding the box of chocolates behind her back, gave Jenny a one-armed hug. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner. And you?”

Jenny smoothed her silky blond hair behind her ear and checked her makeup in the mirror behind the bar. “Meeting Ruth.”

Eva smiled weakly. “What a coincidence.”

“Not really.”

Jenny said this with such confidence that Eva became convinced that the surprise had been completely ruined. Ruth was going to kill her. “No?”

“After the write-up they got in the
Times
last week
,
I’m amazed this place isn’t stuffed to the gills with people I know. How does my hair look? I got it cut yesterday, and I’m not sure if I like it. It looks okay in this light, but I was just in the bathroom and my bangs looked so severe.” She tore her eyes away from the minute examination of self. “When will I learn that everything thing looks better by candlelight?”

Although Eva could detect no difference—Jenny’s hair was always shoulder-length and perfect—she said, “I like the cut. I was just thinking how much I want your hair.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “I better go find Ruth. You know how she’s a stickler for punctuality. You’ll drop by to say hello?”

“Of course,” she said, moving closer to the bar as if to get a drink while waiting for a friend. The décor of the space appealed to Eva. She liked the red walls, the multicolored tiled tables, the stone waterfall along the far wall and the soft lighting. Jenny was right. Everything did look better by candlelight.

The restaurant had a small room in the back reserved for parties of about fifteen people, and Ruth had put a hold on it several weeks before the restaurant had gotten its glowing review in the
Times.
Eva loitered outside the doorway, waiting until she heard Jenny’s squeal of surprise before entering. She didn’t want to get yelled at by Ruth.

Eva slipped by Jenny, put her present on the table with the others, slid into the empty seat next to Mark and pretended she’d been there the entire time. Ruth was not fooled. She sent Eva a scathing look before asking Jenny for the fourth time if she was
really
surprised.

“She’s only tough because she cares,” Mark said softly in her ear.

Eva turned to her friend and studied him. It had been months since she’d seen him but nothing had changed: long thin face, soulful brown eyes, ironic lips, tufts of dark brown hair standing straight up. Despite the far-off corners of the world that he visited and the atrocities he covered for
Newsweek
, he never changed. “I know that.”

“And there’s no such thing as caring too much.”

“I know that, too,” she said, squeezing his hand. “What I didn’t know was that you were back. You’re supposed to call friends to tell them these things.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ve only arrived in town this morning.”

“You must be thoroughly exhausted,” she said, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. Candlelight couldn’t hide everything. “Why aren’t you at home in bed dead to the world?”

“I called Ruth after I settled in a bit and she insisted I come. You know I can’t turn down Ruth,” he explained a little sadly. “And I did want to see you and Jenny. It’s not often that I get to go out with the old gang.”

Eva was silent for a moment as she considered her college friend. Mark was kind and generous and the sort of person she’d want in a foxhole with her, but although he covered foreign wars and political uprisings for a living, he lacked the courage to declare the depth of his feelings to Ruth. “When are you going to tell her, Mark? It’s been almost eleven years.”

“Ten,” he corrected. “Remember, we didn’t meet Ruth until we were sophomores.”

“Sorry, it’s been ten years of unrequited love. Gee, that makes all the difference. So when are you going to tell her?”

“When the timing’s right,” he answered, taking a sip of his Guinness. “Do you want a drink? Apparently the lychee mojito is their specialty. I would have gotten it, only I don’t like lychee or mojitos or specialty drinks.”

Eva ignored his attempt to change the subject, although she didn’t think a drink would be out of order. It had been a particularly draining day, with too many ups and downs for her peace of mind. Eva believed that the timing was never right for declarations such as these, but she let him have it. “Then now is the time. She broke up with Steve seven months ago.”

Steve had been a stuffed-shirt stockbroker who liked to throw around money to impress people. Nobody liked him, although they all pasted smiles on their faces for Ruth’s sake.

“I know. That was right before I left for the Middle East. But I don’t want to be the rebound guy.”

Eva had thought he was going to say that and smiled smugly. “Already taken care of.”

“Huh?”

The waitress came by, and Eva ordered the house drink, even though she would have preferred a regular mojito. “Freddy Harding,” she said when the waitress had moved on. “Six foot two, blond hair, brown eyes, pecs to die for. An actuary for a reinsurance company in the financial district. He lasted two-point-six months. There is nothing ahead, my friend, but open road.”

Mark blanched. Even in the dim light she could see his skin losing color.

“I know it’s frightening,” she said, switching into supportive-friend mode. “I know the thought of taking out your heart and laying it at someone’s else feet is the scariest thing you can possibly do. But that’s what life is about. And nobody knows better than you how precious life is. In your job, you have to know. When are you going to stop wasting time?”

He ran his hands over his face and sighed deeply. “God, I must be tired.”

“Why?”

“You’re starting to make sense.”

“Mark, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What’s the sweetest thing?” Ruth asked, putting her arms around Eva and giving her a quick hug from behind. “Hiya,
guapa,
don’t think I’ve forgiven you for ruining the surprise. You’re going to have to do penance.”

“Jenny was completely surprised. I heard her say it five times,” Eva said defensively.

Ruth threw herself into the seat next to Mark and waved off Jenny’s remarks as innate good manners. “Please, we in the biz call that being polite to the party planner. Don’t confuse it with the truth.”

Eva knew better than to argue further. It had taken her many years, but she finally realized that one simply couldn’t outreason Ruth. “How’d you find out about this place before the review came out?” she asked, changing the topic with little subtlety. “One of your clients?” Ruth worked for a high-profile PR firm and often knew all the hot spots before the owners themselves had a clue.

“Actually, a friend of a friend works the bar,” she explained. “He should be cutting us a break with the drinks. Get the lychee mojito; it’s sublime.”

Eva assured her that she was on top of it and opened her menu. At the other end of the long table, the waitress had already started making the rounds.

“It’s Asian fusion,” said Mark.

“That’s all right.” Eva said. She wasn’t a picky eater and enjoyed most cuisines.

“After six months in the Middle East, I was really looking forward to a hamburger and French fries.”

Ruth leaned across Mark to recommend the steamed halibut. “I saw the executive chef on some Food Network show making it. It made my mouth water. I’m getting that and the consommé. Mark’s going with the filet mignon, rare, with the red wine sauce on the side and the jicama salad. He’d been debating between the jicama salad and the asparagus tart, but I told him that he doesn’t like asparagus.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“What?” Ruth’s eyes were wide and round. “That you don’t like asparagus? I once made a lovely dish called blushing asparagus for him and he couldn’t swallow a bite.”

“That was your cooking, not the asparagus,” he said. “The recipe called for sour cream, but Ruth didn’t have any so she threw in yogurt.”

“Same consistency,” she defended.

“
Strawberry
yogurt.”

“It added zest.”

“
Zest
isn’t the word I would use.”

“And color. The dish was supposed to be
blushing
.”

“I don’t think it’s the dish that should be embarrassed.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to see you cook for me sometime.”

“I had you over for dinner the night before I left for Pakistan.”

“You served frozen food.”

“It was ice cream cake.”

Eva hid a smile behind her menu as she listened to their banter. It was always like this with Ruth and Mark. The two of them were endlessly wrangling over unimportant details and making each other laugh. That they couldn’t get it together as a couple saddened Eva. They were perfect for each other. Mark’s common sense and his habit of looking before leaping dovetailed nicely with Ruth’s impulsiveness and resistance to logic.

“Your mojito,” the waitress said, as she laid it on a cocktail napkin in front of Eva. “Sorry it took me so long. The bar’s moving a little slowly tonight.”

“Not a problem,” she said, taking a sip. The drink was tangy and strong.

“It’s good, eh?” the woman to her left asked. She had black hair in a page-boy cut and long tanned arms.

“Excellent.”

“Are you a friend from Saks?”

Jenny’s previous job had been at Saks Fifth Avenue. Now she was a shoe buyer at Bloomingdale’s. “Nope. College. And you?”

“Bloomies.” She held out her hand and Eva took it. “Soledad Rodrigues. I work in the costume jewelry department.”

Eva introduced herself, and after a short discussion of what Jenny was like in college, they talked about a collection of costume jewelry that was coming up for sale at Wyndham’s in a few weeks.

“It’s not a problem at all,” Eva said, as the first course arrived. “Just give me a call and I’ll show you around. I wish I had a catalog on me.”

Soledad dug into her asparagus tart and Eva eyed her consommé with a jaundiced eye. She shouldn’t have ordered soup. It reminded her of Reed. She hadn’t thought about him once in the last hour, and now his image was front and center in her mind. Damn it.

She noticed that Ruth was busy talking to the woman on the other side of her, so she leaned over and whispered in Mark’s ear. “Tell her about your harem in Saudi Arabia.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Drive her mad with jealousy. Tell her about your harem in Saudi Arabia.”

“But I don’t have a harem,” he pointed out mildly.

This was a typical Mark answer. Trust him to think the only thing wrong with her plan was the fact that it wasn’t true. “Tell her anyway.”

“She won’t believe me.”

All right, Eva thought, as she considered this excellent reason not to proceed with the plan, he makes a valid point. “But the core idea is good, isn’t it? Let’s make her jealous.”

Mark stared at his jicama salad thoughtfully. “How?”

Although the suggestion hadn’t been more than something tossed off casually, the more she thought about it the more it appealed to her. “We’ll let her think there’s something up between you and me.” This idea appealed to him. She could see it in the way he looked at her. “We’ll flirt. We’ll hold hands. Compliment me on my outfits. Say to Ruth, ‘Doesn’t Eva look beautiful tonight,’” she said, warming up to her subject. “Act distracted. When she calls and asks you to do something, tell her you have plans with me. Don’t be at her beck and call. Let her know what it’s like to share. It’ll drive her wild. Trust me. The only reason Ruth isn’t in love with you is she doesn’t have to be. She has you all to herself without the paranoia and insecurity of a relationship. It’s safer, of course, which is nice, but considerably less satisfying. It’s time we made her aware of that. What do you say?”

Eva was almost positive Mark would say no. He was impervious to madcap schemes.