Once Upon Another Time (22 page)

I squinted, as the
harsh overhead fluorescent lights came back on. 

“It is you,” said
Gavin.

I felt silly that
I let my imagination get the best of me.  “So, what happened?”

“Don’t know.  The
whole block lost power.  Thought I’d better look for you.”

Gavin took my
hand.  “I want to apologize for my friend, Vanessa,” he said, as we walked back
to our table.  He explained he was once engaged to a woman by the name of Kerri
who died in a car accident many years before.  As he shared with me his hurt
and how he’d felt lost and had lived in a state of limbo after her death, I
felt my heart draw closer to him.  And as I shared my own experience of a world
that suddenly seemed scary after Matt died, I’d felt as if I’d found a true
kindred spirit.

“Vanessa was
Kerri’s best friend,” Gavin said, as he gazed down into his Merlot, while his
fingers twirled the stem of the glass.  “She was with me twenty-four seven and
helped me through my depression.  We grew close, and though I can’t pinpoint
when it happened, our friendship grew into a boyfriend, girlfriend type thing.”

He leaned back in
his chair and looked at me through thick, dark lashes.  “But after dating on and
off for four years, I realized we both needed to move on.  I broke it off with
her last year, but we remain close friends.”

The incredible
connection I felt with Gavin made me forget my own struggles.  Most of all, I
didn’t feel alone anymore.

The waiter
delivered a slice of lemon biscotti cheesecake to me, but I hadn’t ordered it. 
I pushed the plate over toward Gavin.  “Sorry, this must be yours.”

“I ordered it for
you,” he said as he pushed the plate back toward me.

“Two forks,
please,” I said to the waiter, and looked at Gavin in amazement.  “How did you
know?”

“Know what?”

“That of all the
desserts on the menu, this is my favorite.”

He shrugged his
shoulders.  “Lucky guess,” he said in a tone of voice laced with a tinge of
mystery.

Over another glass
of Merlot and a shared slice of cheesecake, I talked about Nicholas and he
shared stories about his cousin’s children.  Every now and then he’d stop to
compliment me on my frilly new blouse, my aqua stud earrings, and believe or
not,
my hair
.  He left a generous tip for our waiter and as we walked
the block back to his truck, the soles on my practical Tory Burch pumps barely
touched the sidewalk.

The drive home
seemed like an illusion, as if the evening was draped in luminous silk fabric. 
Gavin walked me to my front door.  We stood for a moment in awkward silence
under the arched covered porch in the golden glow of the coach lamps.  He
shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled a loafer over the smooth
concrete. 

“Aubrey, he said
looking deep into my eyes.  “Have you ever met someone for the first time and
felt as if you’ve known them forever?”

I paused before
answering.  “Yes, I have,” I said while wondering if he knew I was talking
about him.

He pulled his
hands from his pockets and moved closer to me.  Even in the darkness, I could
still see his expressive blue eyes.  He gave me a soft, respectful kiss. 
Regardless of its simplistic purity, it was the most complex kiss I’d gotten
since Matt died.

Gavin smiled,
whispered “Goodnight” in my ear, and headed down the front walk. 

I’d thought back
to the last passage in the book Matt had left for me to find.  The protagonist
had found love again.  They’d had dinner together, sat and talked for a long
time, and walked in the moonlight. 

Although I
couldn’t even begin to put all the pieces together that evening with Gavin, I
walked into the house knowing the date I’d been on was anything but ordinary.

It was
four-fifteen in the afternoon.  I sat in my office staring at the phone and
wanting to respond to the voicemails Gavin had left me since our first date,
three days before, but each time I thought about it, the Twilight Zone played
in my head. 

I was confused.  I
missed him more than I should have, pressing the replay button on my recorder again
and again, just to listen to his voice like some love struck teenager.

“Hi, just wanted
to let you know I had a wonderful time last night,” was the message that had me
reliving our kiss.  He laughed when he said, “I love your sense of humor and
that dating story was off the hook!”  Then that very morning he had left
another message while I was in court.  “Thought maybe you’d like to do lunch
this week.  Give me a call.” 

Ever since the
night of the blue moon and afterward seeing Matt and then Gavin, my life was
becoming a series of hidden meanings, layer upon layer as in an ancient
grimoire with locked covers.  I couldn’t imagine what it all meant.  However,
each morning when I awoke thoughts of my date with Gavin was like the softly
echoing mourning dove in the elm tree outside my bedroom window.

As I shuffled the
papers on my desk, the thought of being dishonest stung my heart like acid
dripping on an open wound.  However, having a heart to heart with Gavin about
broken clocks that chime, books with clues from a ghost, voices that call in my
head, and a husband who had come back from the dead…would make Gavin run faster
than an antelope chased by a cheetah.

Stop laboring
over this and get to work!

I opened the file
folder on my desk, picked up the phone, and called Melanie to come to my office
to discuss a couple of cases, one being Jeb Donnelly’s eviction case. 

As I read the
contents of the file folder, Vanessa popped into my thoughts.  The word
insecurity
flashed in my head like a bright neon sign.  I rifled through my purse, found
my compact mirror, and held it up to study my face.  That little snit, Vanessa,
didn’t have one single line on her face, while my crow’s feet were beginning to
expand into duck’s feet. 

Through the years
that I wasn’t interested in dating, my face was smooth as porcelain and my tush
was tight as a banjo string.  Now that I had someone I wanted to impress, the
pores on my face were morphing into tiny craters and the skin on my tush--let’s
just say the only place dimples look cute is on the face. 

My office door swung
open.  Melanie walked in dressed in a very smart, beautifully tailored powder
blue suit.  She reminded me of a vintage Jackie Kennedy, minus the pillbox
hat.  I quickly snapped the compact closed and stashed it in my top desk
drawer.

“They have surgery
for that you know, said Melanie.  “Or you could always do Botox, a much simpler
remedy.  However, adding in the cost of maintenance, surgery is really the best
choice.  She smiled and her cheeks looked like little pillows tight enough to
bounce quarters off of.  “You know me, always willing to share the talents of
the great Dr. Stevens,” she said.

The word “quack”
not “great” came to mind when she mentioned her plastic surgeon.  Personally, I
was worried about her obsession with already having had two facelifts.  I had
the feeling she wasn’t going to be happy until she was able to tie her ears
together at the back of her head. 

“Thanks, but I
think I’ll stick with Ponds for now and call it a day.”  I pulled a folder from
file drawer and handed it to her. 

“This is the
information on the Ray Peters’ sexual harassment lawsuit.”

“Oh,” Melanie
said, raising her eyebrows.  “Isn’t this the case Judge Trudy Lopez is
presiding over?”

“Yes, her views
alone on the whole Bobbit thing really bothers me.  Moreover, that framed photo
of Sandra Day O’Connor she has hanging in her chambers should tell you she’s a
staunch supporter for women’s liberation.  That’s why I desperately need your
help.  Besides getting a hold of the plaintiff’s attorney to make a request for
discovery, I’d like you to do a very thorough snooping of the plaintiff
herself.”

“Oh, so you want
me to dig up dirt on her,” Melanie said, as her eyes sparkled.  Uncovering
buried secrets was the lifeblood that pumped through Melanie’s veins.

“Well, let’s just
say that along with a background check, see if you can find something that
would mar her from being anything less than a solid, model citizen.  No matter
how minuscule it might seem.”

“Okay, I’ll get
right on it.”

“One more thing,”
I said, waving another folder at her.  “In here is the information on the Jeb
Donnelly eviction, a copy of the pleadings is in the folder.  Please see what
you can find on Benjamin Solomon, the landlord.  I get the feeling there’s
something shady going on with this.” 

“Will do,” Melanie
said, as she took the folder from me and hurried out the door. 

“Aubrey?” 
Ashley’s voice dissolved into giggles over the intercom.  With her desk
perpendicular to the glass wall of my office, I saw her wave to someone who was
out of my view.

“What’s so
funny?” 

She quickly
glanced sideways at me, and flipped back a silky sheet of black hair from her
shoulders.  “Oh, nothing, Neil’s at the end of the hall making a goofy face at
me.  He’s such a flirt and sooo cute.”

“Ashley, what have
I told you about Neil? 
Was that Mother’s voice?
  “If you have the
slightest inkling of even going for coffee with that man, just remind yourself
how terrifying it would be to spend days logging onto Web MD looking up
symptoms of the latest STDs.” 

“I know, I know,”
she said, sounding a bit irritated.

“Okay then, so why
were you buzzing me?” 

“Cacey Simson is
holding for you.”

“Oh, thanks!” 

 “Well, it’s about
time,” I said jokingly, as I leaned back in my chair.  “Thought you were
supposed to be back from Spain last week.”

“Well, after the
equestrian competitions, Madison and Spencer were having so much fun we decided
to hop over to the Madrid festival where Emily learned the word
churro
,
a tube-shaped pastry she couldn’t get enough of, and the kids loved the Royal
Palace.  Since the Spaniards consider dining before nine barbaric, the kids
thought it was cool to stay up so late.” 

Madison was
Cacey’s thirteen-year-old stepdaughter from her first marriage to Paul, who she
divorced when Madison was six.  With Madison’s mother dead and Paul not only a
lousy husband, but also an abusive parent, Cacey won custody.  Spencer was
Cacey’s nine-year-old son from her second marriage to Mark, another jerk, and
three-year-old Emily was from her marriage to Phil, her wonderful pediatrician
husband.

“So, how was your
flight this time?”

“Like hell, as
usual,” Cacey grumbled.

Cacey had always
flown first class so I knew she was over exaggerating the
hell
part,
because
hell
was sitting in seat number 32C across from the bathroom on
a long flight to Phoenix.  I’d thought about tucking a blanket in the overhead
compartment and letting it hang down as a “stick shield.”

“Enough talk about
me,” Cacey said.  “I’m calling about two things.  First, I want to invite you
to a ‘girls only’ luncheon that I’m having at my house two weeks from this
coming Saturday.”

“What’s the
occasion?” 

“I am planning
something special.  It’s a surprise.  Besides, it’s also an excuse to cook. 
You know that ever since that embarrassing blunder on national TV four years
ago, I’ve overcompensated by replacing booze with an extreme cooking
obsession.”  

Cacey was born
with a silver spoon dunked in Belgium chocolate and drizzled with strawberry
sauce.  I used to dream of whipping up astonishing six-course meals and leaving
guests in a drooling frenzy while waiting for dessert, but for Cacey it came
true. 

For college dorm
parties, everyone’s contribution consisted of a six-pack of beer.  Cacey
however, would bring fancy hors d’oeuvres that she’d whip up in her college
apartment and serve them with wine.  She said the wine would cleanse the
palate, make the taste buds stand at attention, and enhance the flavor of each
tiny morsel of seasoning. 

After college
graduation, Laura and I went off to law school and Cacey took off to Hollywood
to find herself.  That’s where she met her first husband Paul, a TV producer. 
The only good thing that loser ever did was help her launch “Cacey’s Kitchen,”
a cooking show that took off like a bullet. 

“So, do you think
you can make it?”  Cacey asked.

“I don’t see why
not.”

“Good, everyone
who shows will in a sense perform a wonderful humanitarian gesture.”

“How so?”

“Simply by eating
the food I make.  Since I can’t seem to pull the reins in on my cooking
obsession, and Phil and the kids can only eat so much, I’ve been consuming
large quantities of leftovers.  Even as we speak I can feel the zipper on my
shorts slipping down my former size ten belly to accommodate my ever expanding
size twelve waist.”

“You shouldn’t worry
about your waist.  Age has a way of expanding us all--except for Laura and
Katelyn, of course.”

“I know.  I could
just hate them if I didn’t love them so much.  I haven’t called Katelyn yet,
but I spoke to Laura.  She said she won’t be able to make it to my luncheon
because David’s taking her on a romantic getaway to Cape Cod.” 

“I know.  She’s
pretty excited about it.  They’re going to stay at the Chatham Bars Inn right
on the ocean,” I said wistfully.

“Beautiful and
very romantic,” Cacey said.  “Phil and I stayed there a couple of years ago. 
Between the spa treatments and midnight walks along the ocean, Phil was so
relaxed he turned into a regular love machine running on all eight
cylinders--ah sorry.  Anyway, for the second thing I called about.  I know it’s
been a long time since you last dated, but by any chance do you have a new
boyfriend?  Someone tall and very handsome with blue eyes that could melt
hearts at fifty yards?”