Hot Flash (10 page)

“Fixing your faucet.” He’d taken it apart and was apparently in the process of replacing the little screen filter. “Stephen told me it’s been spitting at you lately.”

“I was planning to do it.” I was feeling defensive, which was silly since it wasn’t a big deal.

“I like fixing things,” Wesley added.

“The original Mr. Fix-It, huh?” But then, my gaze landed on the yellow cardboard lightbulb package sitting beside the sink. I looked up. He’d replaced the bulb that had been out for several months. Something else I’d been planning to get around to … eventually.

Now I really felt defensive. He already thought poorly of me and now he seemed to think I was doing a bad job of taking care of Stephen and myself. “I’ve been taking care of this stuff for a long time.”

“I thought you could use the help.” He sounded pleased with himself, as if I should act all girly about it. Like that would ever happen.

He didn’t get it. I didn’t need someone tromping on what little confidence I had in my abilities. I didn’t want or need help from him. I needed college tuition, not a caretaker, even if said caretaker looked kind of desirable with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of pliers in his hands.

“Should I wait up for you?” My son, the peacemaker, finished putting slices of pizza on a plate for each of them and apparently noticed that I was fighting an urge to order Wesley out of my kitchen.

Deciding to let the issue slide—I mean, if some control freak wants to fix your sink and replace your lightbulbs, you might as well let him, especially when your kid seems to like him so much—I replied, “Wait up if you want. I expect to be home fairly early, definitely before midnight.”

Davin frowned. “Not much of a night on the town.”

“It’s plenty for me. I can accomplish a lot in four to five hours.” I turned to leave.

“Shouldn’t you tell us where you’ll be? How well do you know this guy?” asked the-teacher-from-Hades.

“It’s none of your business, but Stephen knows where I’m going. Don’t you, hon?” It’s where I always meet people I don’t know well because I know the guys who work there. I consider it a “safe spot,” so I’d arranged to meet Tony there just in case he turned out to be a psychopath or simply got on my nerves.

Stephen nodded. “Patisserie?”

“Don’t tell him! Mr. Wesley will probably try to horn in on my date or screw it up.”

“Davin. And I wouldn’t.” He waved a slice of pizza at me. “Screw up your date, I mean.”

“What about horning in? You didn’t mention not doing that.”

He showed his teeth when he smiled, but he didn’t respond.

“Night,
Maman
. Have fun!” As I closed the door, I heard Davin mutter, “Keep your shoes on, Cinderella.”

Tony and I were to meet at the restaurant at seven o’clock on the dot. Patisserie was a local hot spot, trendy, near the Strip, and the food was well prepared. A cook I used to work with at the hotel, Kurt, had opened it. I probably knew half the kitchen staff, because he’d stolen most of them from the hotel. No matter how The Date went, I’d have a great dinner.

The maître d’, Carlos, recognized me when I came in and gave me a quick hug. “I’ll let Kurt know you’re dining with us tonight.”

“I’m meeting a date, so there’s no need.”

“Is his name Tony?” Carlos scowled slightly. Hmm.

“Yes. Is he here already?”

“I seated him by the kitchen. I’ll move you to a better table right away. He asked for something nicer, but I assured him it wasn’t possible without a reservation.” Carlos rubbed his fingers together in a time-honored gesture meaning Tony hadn’t coughed up the bucks to merit one of the good tables.

“Stiffed you, huh? I’ll have to train him better. Lead me to your best table, please.” I offered him a twenty, but Tony waved it away.

“Are you sure you really want to meet this guy?”

“Hey, Tony is nice.”

Again Carlos scowled.

“Isn’t he?” Tony seemed sweet when I met him, but maybe my first impression was wrong?

“Yeah. He’s nice enough. Just not your type.” Carlos nudged me with his shoulder as he led me to the table. “Now me, I’m your type.”

So that was what his hints were about. A little male posturing. Since Carlos was
very
married, I ignored his flirtations as he seated me. He then went to fetch Tony from whatever dining-hell he’d been subjected to. I sniffed the flower centerpiece while I waited for my date.

A couple of minutes later, Tony approached. He was every bit as cute as I remembered. I hadn’t been deluding myself, which was a thought that had occurred to me when I was on my way to meet him. My eyes focused on something in Tony’s hand. A box? Maybe he’d brought me a gift?

He arrived at my table, leaned over and bussed my cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t carrying a box. It was a stack of photos. Who brings photos on a date? “Did you have any problem finding the restaurant?”

“No. Looks like a nice place.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” No need to mention it’s one of my
safe spots
. “So, how are easel sales?”

“Going great. How’s cooking?”

“Just fine.” I wasn’t quite sure how to get a conversation going and sought some safe subject. I mean, what do easel salesmen want to talk about? I knew nothing about easels. As I opened my mouth to stick my foot in it by mentioning religion or politics, our waiter approached. “Can I get you a bottle of wine tonight?”

He ran through the list of specials and Tony and I quickly placed our orders.

Do you ever have one of those moments, not exactly déjà vu, but where you know that what is coming isn’t going to be good?

It happened to me when Tony, who had been sitting opposite me at the table, changed chairs to sit beside me, photos in hand.

“This is my kid, Charlie. Isn’t he cute?”

I looked at the photo he held up. Charlie had an uncanny resemblance to Eddie Munster. “Very cute. How old is he?”

“Five. This one’s a picture of him in front of our … I mean, what used to be our house. I live in an apartment now.”

His boy was only five? Amazing. What with the peach fuzz mustache, he looked about fourteen. “Nice house.”

“Bridget got it in the divorce.” He seemed sort of choked up as he looked at the house photo. I could understand where he was coming from since we obviously shared a passion for houses—dream or lost.

“I have a son, too. Stephen.” It wasn’t much of a conversation starter, but it was the best I could do at the time. Since Tony was upset, I was hoping to get him on another subject. But none of my attempts worked. By the time our entrées arrived, he’d hit his stride.

“I miss my kid. I miss my house. I miss my wife. I miss my life!”

When dessert arrived, I realized I’d hit the low point in my dating life, because my date was blubbering. Literally. Crying into his Crème Brûlée.

“I want my life back. Why did she have to kick me out? Why? Why?”

With each “why,” he smashed his forehead with his spoon. “Now, now.” I forced the spoon from his fingers and patted his back, not knowing what else to do.

But he continued blubbering. Other diners were beginning to stare and were looking at me as if I’d done something to upset the poor man. One woman glared at me, so I held up my hands in an exaggerated shrug to let her know I wasn’t responsible.

She turned away, but it was too much. I had to escape. Grabbing my handbag, I popped up from the table. “Gotta go visit the little girls’ room.”

My tone came out a lot more frantic than I’d hoped, but if this wasn’t an emergency, what was? I’d have done almost anything to get away. I’d have yelled fire if Kurt wouldn’t have doused me in fire extinguisher foam as retribution. As I trotted to the restroom, toilet paper origami called to me.

By the time I’d applied more lipstick and gone through
every
freshening-up routine I could think of, I remembered my cell phone. I dialed my home number.

The phone was answered on the second ring. “Thunder Storm residence,” said the voice.

At first I thought I’d called the wrong number, but the voice sounded sickeningly familiar. “Is this Davin? What are you doing answering the phone? Where’s Stephen?”

“He’s in the bathroom. How’s your date going?”

Like I was going to discuss it with him? “None of your business. Any chance Stephen is coming out soon?”

“Considering how much time the two of you spend in the bathroom, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some genetic flaw at work here, but I’ll check.”

I heard the sound of him tapping on a door. “Your mom’s on the phone. Can you take the call?”

I heard mumbling.

“He asked to call you back in about ten minutes. Okay?”

“Nah. Tell him not to bother. I was just checking in.”

“You’re okay?

“Just fine! Having the time of my life!” There was no way I was going to admit that my date with Tony was a dud. And what I said to Wesley wasn’t a lie if you consider counting bathroom ceiling cracks a ton of laughs. “Gotta run now. Bye!”

I hung up before he could ask more nosy questions. The only thing worrying me was the point he made about the amount of time I seemed to be spending in bathrooms lately. I girded my panties—because I’m not sure if women have loins—and left the restroom.

A quick glance at my table assured me I’d killed enough time in the restroom for Tony to give up and leave without me. My tense shoulders relaxed. I headed toward the exit, only to stop in my tracks. Tension was coiled up so tightly inside of me that I felt like an over-wound spring. There was Tony, blocking the aisle, and a particularly harried-looking waitress.

Each time she tried to slip past him, he stopped her and made her look at another photograph from his nearly endless supply. At least he wasn’t crying anymore but the waitress would be soon.

Carlos gestured at me from the restaurant entrance to get Tony outta here. Like I was his keeper? Hell, if it was a choice between me or the waitress, she was Kleenex fodder. I reversed in my tracks and headed for the kitchen and the rear exit.

Unfortunately, a group of angry waitpersons met me and I felt like Beauty’s Beast during his run-in with the angry townspeople.

“You gotta get that guy out of here,” one called.

I tried to back away.

“Stop her!”

Another cried, “Why the hell did you bring him here?”

Even Kurt joined in. “Out of all the restaurants in all the world, why did you have to bring him into mine?”

So much for my escape route.

I made a swift about-face, lunged for the photo Tony was about to force on the whimpering waitress, and said, “It’s time to go.”

“But—”

“No buts. I have to go home now.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the restaurant entrance. Carlos was making get-lost motions with his arms and didn’t seem to much care if Tony saw. I didn’t much care, either. “And you have to go home now, too.”

“You don’t want to—”

Again I cut him off as I forced him out the door. “I need to check on my kid.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

Why was he thanking me? Oh, hell. “Did you pay the bill?”

“No. I thought you did.” He started to go back into Patisserie, and I knew if he did I’d never be allowed to eat there again.

“I’ll take care of it.” I placed my body between him and the entrance. “Don’t worry about it. Go. Home. Now.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” I was never so positive about anything in my life. When I’d imagined the evening, I’d expected to at least get a free meal out of it, and now all I wanted was to take off my sexy, strappy shoes and go home myself.

“You never saw the rest of my pictures. Want to see them now?” He held out the stack of photos and I could have sworn it had grown taller by another inch.

I shook my head.

“You sure don’t want to miss this one. It’s one of Charlie dumping a bucket—”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Good night, Tony.”

“Night.” When he leaned forward to kiss me, I turned my head.

“Well, I’ll call you then,” he said.

“You do that.” And I’d be sure to screen all my calls. Caller ID would be my closest friend and confidant. After he walked away, I reentered Patisserie expecting the worst.

Carlos looked worried until he saw I was alone. “I thought you were going to stiff me, too. I told you the guy was a jerk.”

“Actually, you said he was nice enough.”

“Didn’t I say that he’s not your type?”

“True.” I gave him my credit card and as I waited for him to process it, I wondered exactly what my type was. Should I give up on traveling salesmen? Was Tony representative of the type?

Surely not. There couldn’t be two men with stacks of photo torture. I’d just have to be more selective next time.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dear Jill,

While I enjoy surveys as much as the next person, you can’t quantify happiness, much less marital success.

When you walk down the aisle with a man, never forget the vows you’ll make, to love him for richer or poorer, better or worse, in health and in sickness.

You have to mean those vows in order to have a successful and long-lasting marriage. Finding a particular type of man won’t be a guarantee. Only your heart can make that pledge.