Dreamboat (4 page)

“Oh, all right,” Jenny said. She turned back to the bar and ordered for them. When the bartender had their drinks ready—a Cosmopolitan for Jenny and white wine for Crissy—Jenny opened her purse to take out money. Before she could give it to the bartender, a handsome man grabbed her hand.

“Let me take care of that, Jenny,” he said.

“Oh, Tom,” she cooed. “You don't have to do that.”

“But I want to,” he said, pulling a crisp twenty-dollar bill from a money clip and slapping it down on the bar.

“Oh, this is my friend, Crissy,” she said. “Crissy, this is Tom Gentry.”

“Hi,” Crissy said, extending a hand.

“Oh, there's Jimmy Golden,” Jenny cried. “I'll be back in a minute.” She rushed off without a backward glance, intent on seeing her friend.

Tom Gentry took Crissy's hand in his and pressed it gently. “Nice to meet you,” he said, looking into her eyes. He was in his mid- to late thirties, tall with dark blond hair, and his eyes were such a startling, intense blue that Crissy wondered if he wore tinted contact lenses.

“It's nice to meet you, too,” she said, surprised that he hadn't relinquished his hold on her hand. His gaze, she noticed, quickly swept her up and down, assessing her, she felt, as if to determine whether or not she was worthy of his attention. She didn't feel offended, just a bit curious. She wouldn't have imagined that Tom Gentry would greet her in anything more than a perfunctory way. He was, after all, a very important man about town, a social and professional titan who had his pick of the local women.

Apparently, she passed inspection. “Would you like to dance, Crissy?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. She set her wineglass on the bar, and he took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor.

The music segued into a slow number, and smiling, Tom took her into his arms, leading her gracefully about the dance floor. He was a very good dancer, she thought, and a gentleman, too. He didn't try to squeeze her against him, groping her, trying to cop a feel, as so many men would do. Occasionally he would look down into her eyes and smile, an almost sleepy look in his gaze, but friendly and sexy in a nonthreatening way. When the music segued into the next number, a fast one, he held onto her hand but led her off the dance floor.

“Let me get you a drink,” he offered.

“You already did,” Crissy said with a laugh. “I left it at the bar.”

“In that case, I'll get myself one,” he said, “and we can have a drink together. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” Crissy said.

“Do you see yours?” he asked when they reached the bar.

“Here it is,” Crissy said, picking up her glass of wine.

He ordered an Oban on the rocks, then turned to her. “So you and Jenny are good friends, I take it?”

She nodded. “We met at the university,” she said, “and we've been friends ever since.”

“She's some girl,” he said, smiling. “About as wild as they come.”

“She's pretty out there,” Crissy agreed, “but she's always been a really good friend to me.”

“I bet,” he said. “The loyal type, but I wouldn't want to be her enemy. She raked Peter over the coals when she got a divorce. Managed to get herself a nice big settlement and alimony.” The bartender brought his drink, and he took a small sip.

“Peter was playing around on her,” Crissy said in Jenny's defense, “and everybody knew about it.”

“Yes, Peter was pretty stupid getting caught with his pants down. Jenny had better sense. She played it real cool.” He looked at her and smiled. “No way was she dumb enough to get herself caught.”

“Do you mean—” She looked at him questioningly.

He nodded. “You didn't know?” He smiled again. “Jenny was getting it on with at least two guys I know.”

“I don't believe you,” Crissy replied incredulously.

“Ask her,” he said. “She acted like a devoted little housefrau until the divorce was over and she'd gotten her hands on his money, then she really let loose, doing whatever—whoever—she wanted to.”

Crissy was disturbed by what he said. She had been Jenny's confidante during the divorce proceedings. She'd listened to her tales of woe, held her hand, and wiped away her tears. She found it hard to believe that Jenny wouldn't have told her the truth, that she herself was playing around on Peter. She really didn't know what to believe, but she didn't know why Tom Gentry would lie to her. What did he have to gain by it?

“I . . . I really don't like talking about her this way,” Crissy finally said. “Behind her back. Whatever Jenny might or might not have done is in the past, and she's not here to speak for herself.”

Tom looked at her, studying her face for a moment. “You're the loyal type, too, aren't you?”

“I think so,” Crissy said. “If someone is my friend, then I stick by her.” She looked up at him. “And I expect the same thing from my friends.”

Tom abruptly reached over and took one of her hands in his. “You're a serious . . . and beautiful . . . young lady,” he said, looking with intensity into her eyes, “and I like that. It's a winning combination.”

Crissy was somewhat startled by his remark and his sudden, more intimate proximity. She liked the way his hand felt, however, and liked what he had said.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said. Then she laughed nervously. “If you mean that.”

He looked offended momentarily and let go of her hand. “Of course I meant it,” he said. “I don't know what you might have heard about me, if you've heard anything at all, but I think you'll discover that I don't waste my time on women that I don't find interesting . . . and I find you very interesting.”

Once again Crissy was jolted by his words, and she was temporarily at a loss as to how to respond. “You . . . you're not at all what I expected,” she replied, looking down into her wineglass, then back up at him.

“Why don't we go sit down and continue this conversation in a quiet corner,” Tom said with a smile. “Is that okay with you?”

Crissy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Why not?”

“Let me get you another glass of wine first.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said, “but I will have some water.”

“Fizzy or still? Lemon or lime?”

Crissy smiled. “Fizzy, with lemon.”

He ordered her water and paid for it. Handing it to her, he said, “Take my arm, we'll find a spot.”

Crissy took his arm and followed his lead through the throng of people crowding off the dance floor toward the bar. Several people greeted Tom and gave her the once-over, she noticed, but he didn't stop to introduce her to anyone. They were probably wondering who the stranger was that Tom Gentry had deigned to include in his court tonight, she thought, and she couldn't help but feel a little privileged by his attention and excited by the interest that it generated in others. She recognized a few of the faces, but she didn't know any of the people. The crowd appeared to be more upscale and mature than those that frequented the clubs she usually went to with friends.

They reached a distant corner where no one was around, and Tom indicated the banquette with a hand. “How's this?” he asked. “Okay?”

“Fine,” Crissy replied. “You don't want to join your friends?”

“Not now,” he said. “Besides, here I think we can actually talk to each other without shouting.” They put their drinks down on the black glass and chrome table, and he let her sit down and scoot across the banquette's leather-upholstered seat, making room for him. He sat close to her, but left enough room to turn sideways to face her with one leg up on the seat.

“It's actually fairly quiet here,” Crissy said, feeling somewhat unnerved by such close proximity without other people around. She certainly wasn't afraid of him. No, it wasn't that at all—he'd been a perfect gentleman, hadn't he?—but his interest in her was a little unsettling and aroused her curiosity. Perhaps, too, she reflected, it was the confident, masculine, well-bred air that surrounded him, as well as his charm and handsomeness.
Oh, hell,
she finally admitted to herself,
he's all that and just plain sexy.

“I guess I seem a little aggressive,” he said, as if he could read her mind, “and I don't want to scare you off. But I didn't want to pass up the chance to get to know you a little better.” After taking a sip of his drink, he added, “Why don't you tell me about yourself?”

“What do you want to know?” she asked with a laugh.

“Everything,” he replied, looking into her eyes. Then he laughed, too. “Well . . . everything that you'd like to tell me.”

“Oh . . . well . . . I wouldn't even know where to start,” Crissy said.

“Then I'll ask you twenty questions,” he said. “How's that?”

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “At least, I guess it's okay.” She laughed again.

“I promise I won't ask anything too . . . personal,” he replied, smiling. “Are you from here?”

Crissy nodded. “I was born and raised here. In a little house in Guilderland.” She looked at him questioningly. “And you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Where?” she asked.

“Loudonville.”

Naturally,
she thought.
He would be from the most exclusive part of town.
“That's nice,” she said. “There're so many beautiful houses there.”

“Did you go to school here?”

“Oh, yes. I went to Central. You?”

“I went away to school,” he said. “To Deerfield.”

“A boarding school?” she asked.

He nodded. “And your parents were from here?”

“My dad was from Castleton,” she said. “A little town south of here on the Hudson.” She didn't add that he was a hopeless alcoholic who only came by to beg money off her.

“I know where it is,” he said. “A pretty little place.”

“Well, maybe parts of it are pretty,” she said with a laugh, “but a lot of it definitely is not what you'd call pretty.”

“And your mother?”

“She's from Vietnam, and now she owns a spa here in Albany,” Crissy replied, hoping that he didn't ask her anything else about Lily, her difficult, complex mother.

“Aha,” Tom said. “So he met her during the Vietnam war.” He swirled the ice around in his drink. “Excuse me, I mean ‘conflict.' ”

Crissie nodded. “Right. They met, fell in love, and got married.”

“That's explains why you're so beautiful,” he said. “You're part Asian.”

She felt the blood rush to her face, and knew that she was blushing. “Yes, and I bet your parents are both from old Albany families.”

“No, actually,” he replied. “My mother is from an old Saratoga family.” He smiled. “My dad's from here, though. An old Albany family, as you say. But that's enough about me. I'm boring, and my family's boring. I want to know about you.” He paused and took another sip of his drink. “So you met Jenny at SUNY. What did you study there?”

“Liberal arts,” she replied, “and I was thinking about majoring in art history before I dropped out.”

“Oh, so you didn't finish,” he said. “Why not?”

“My family quit supporting me,” Crissy said, “and I started working full-time so I could get a place of my own. You know, away from home. Then Karen, this friend of mine, was getting her beautician's license and talked me into going there, too. So I did. It was affordable and didn't take too long, and I saw that I could make a lot more money than working for minimum wage in department stores and places like that.”

He nodded. “So you're a hairdresser?”

“Yes,” Crissy said. “A hairdresser, more or less by accident.”

“Do you think you'll go back to school?”

“I don't know,” Crissy said. “I'd like to, but I think I want to see some of the world first.” She didn't mind his questions, but she was beginning to feel as if she was getting the third degree. Was this part of a background check, to see if she was worthy of his attention? she wondered.

“Sounds reasonable,” he said. “Do you like what you do?”

Crissy laughed.

“What?” he asked, smiling. “What's so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “You just ask a lot of questions.”

“I told you that I'm interested in you,” he said. “It's just my way of finding out about you.”

“I know,” she said. “It's . . . it's just that . . . well, you seem so serious, and you're asking a lot all at once.” She paused thoughtfully then said, “I guess most of the men I've known haven't really been all that interested in me. At least they haven't asked these kind of questions right off the bat. They've mostly just been interested in . . . well . . .”

“Getting in your pants,” he supplied.

Crissy nodded.

“I can't blame them,” he said, looking into her eyes. He took one of her hands in his. “Like I said, you're beautiful, but you're also intelligent.”

The touch of his hand seemed intimate for some reason. Crissy suddenly felt her pulse begin to race, and her body seemed to awaken to desires she hadn't felt in a long time. She could hardly believe this was happening, and she wondered if he was experiencing a similar reaction, if he was aroused by her. She only had to wait a moment for the answer.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked. “I know you haven't been here long, but I think we could have a much better time talking someplace else. Someplace with privacy, where we could really get to know each other.” He held her gaze unflinchingly.

She nodded without a second thought, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good,” he said in a whisper, still holding her hand in his. He stared at her silently, then said, “Why don't we get our coats?”