“I managed to see, a little of the city,” Colin answered, reaching for a French fry. “But I sure missed these. How come Americans make better French fries?”
“We use older cooking oil, and more of it,” Holly supplied, smiling. “Seriously, you missed American food?”
“Seriously, I did. So, where do you live if it’s not in Manhattan?”
“Pennsylvania,” Holly said, unscrewing the cap on her bottled water. “Allentown, to be precise. Did you
know that the lead actress in
42nd Street
was supposedly from Allentown? The city’s used in a lot of songs, books, TV shows. I don’t have the faintest idea why. It’s just a town. My town, but just a town. Still, with all the new highways, I can be in Manhattan in two hours, so it’s still convenient for Julia to check on the plant, or for me to come up here to visit her.”
“Julia? That would be Julia Sut
h
er
l
a
n
d?”
“Mm-hmm,” Holly said,
n
odding, as her mouth was full once more. For a little person, she sure could eat, and didn’t seem to mind letting him know she had a healthy appetite. He bet that Jackie, the model, hadn’t eaten an entire hamburger in years, and Holly was already unwrapping her second.
Colin picked up a paper napkin, reached across the table to wipe some ketchup off Holly’s chin. “Irene says you’re Julia’s second in command.”
“Irene says a lot, doesn’t she?” Holly said, clearly bristling. “What is this? A couple of hamburgers in exchange for whispering in Julia’s ear that you want to be headlined in her next showing? Maybe do some print ads in her catalog, even on her Web site?”
Colin sat back, scratched the side of his nose. “What kind of question is that? Do you have that low an opinion of me, or of yourself? Why couldn’t I have asked you to dinner because I thought we might enjoy each other’s company?”
“Yeah, right,” Holly said, poking through the French fries on the hunt for a dark one. “So what’s next? You want to take a walk in the park, hold hands, maybe catch a movie?”
“Okay,” Colin heard himself say as he crumpled the
hamburger wrappings into a ball and stood up, picked up the tray. “The park first, while it’s still got people other than muggers walking the paths.”
Holly tipped back her head, looking up at him. He smiled down at her, liking the way she looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown another head. “You really want to make this a real date? W
hy? I’ve been rude, obnoxious…
”
“Don’t forget bossy. Although I have to admit it, I really liked it when you told me to take off my pants.”
Holly stood up, shrugged into her coat, then grabbed one last French fry from the tray. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did,” Colin corrected her. “And you were on your knees when you said it.”
“Well, I didn’t
mean
it,” Holly told him quickly, following him back out onto the pavement. “I mean, I didn't mean it
that
way.”
Colin stopped, turned around, put his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said, then leaned down, kissed the tip of her nose.
“
Besides, it was the pink boa that got to me. You looked like you were playing dress-up, a little kid in a land of giant dolls.”
“I can’t help being short,” Holly told him as he took her hand, led her across the street and into Central Park. “All us Hollises are short. Mom, Dad, my sister, Helen, my brothers Herb and Harry.”
“You’ve got a brother named Harry? That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s just another
H.
We’re all
H
’
s. Hillary, Howard, Herb, Harry, Helen and Holly Hollis. Looked great on Christmas cards, but that’s about it. I swear Helen married John Barker just to get rid of the
H.
I mean,
why else would anyone marry a guy who bowls every Thursday night, wearing a shirt that says
Bow-wow Barker
on the back?”
Colin stopped at the entrance to the Park, threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t believe it. Your family almost makes mine sound normal.”
“And it’s not?” Holly asked, pulling him over to a street vendor selling ice-cream sandwiches. “Dessert, and this time it’s my treat,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her wallet.
“My family? Well, no, it’s not. Not in the usual sense, anyway. Mom’s an archeologist, and Dad’s a professional fisherman. No kidding, there are professional fishermen. I’m their only child, probably because they haven't really lived together very much for thirty years, although they’re still married. Dad’s in Alaska somewhere right now, fishing, and Mom’s in Egypt, digging somewhere near the pyramids.”
“Who raised you?” Holly asked, handing him a rather limp ice-cream sandwich.
“My great-aunt and uncle,” Colin said, then quickly changed the subject again, because Max’s parents had taken care of him when he wasn’t in some boarding school. He didn’t know how much Holly knew about Max’s home life, and didn’t want to take a chance on giving her clues she might follow.
“I would have hated that,” Holly said as they walked into the park. “We’re just this big, noisy family that still gets together every Sunday for dinner. Kids running all over the place, Dad falling asleep in his favorite chair, Mom asking me when I’m going to get married.”
“Haven’t found anyone worth losing your
H
for,
huh?
”
Colin asked, licking at the side of his hand as
vanilla
ice cream threatened to run into
his
cuff.
“I’m not really looking,” Holly told him shortly. “I’ve got my career, my own apartment, I’m not thirty yet I’m in no hurry.”
“Well, I’m two years past thirty, but I’m in no hurry, either.” He touched her hand again as they walked along, then took it in his, liking the way her flesh felt pressed against his. “Now that we’ve established that neither of us is chasing a wedding ring, what else do we have in common?”
Holly shrugged, avoiding, his eyes. “We both like greasy French fries?”
“Right. Obviously the basis for a firm friendship. And we both like walking in the park as the sun goes down. That’s three, not including the hamburgers, or the ice-cream sandwiches. Now, if we share a taste for police chase type thriller movies, we may regret that you got onions on that hamburger. Or that I didn’t. There is that, isn’t there?”
Holly stopped, looked up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked with the honesty he’d come to recognize, and fear just a little, considering he was being about as dishonest as he could be without wearing a fake mustache and dark glasses.
“What am I doing? I don’t know, Holly. I just like you. You’re cute, you’re prickly, you don’t seem to care whether you impress me or not. I like it.”
“Oh, I get it now. Women fall all over you, don’t they? You have to beat them away with a stick. The male model Adonis. That face, that body—that ego!”
“It all can be a burden, yes. Especially the ego,”
Colin said, sighing theatrically, trying to hide a smile. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”
“Oh,
Gawd!”
Holly exclaimed in disgust, letting go of his hand, turning and walking back toward the entrance to the park, Colin hot on her heels.
“Hey, Holly—wait! I was just kidding around,” he said, catching up to her. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want to accept my dinner invitation because I’m a male model, because I won’t buy it.”
“That is
not
why I tried to turn you down,” Holl
y protested, standing at the corn
er, tapping her foot as she waited for the light to change.
“Oh? Really? Then tell me, how many male models have you dated? You’d have to have dated some, right, being around them all the time?”
“I have
never—
oh, okay, maybe I have. One.” She rolled her eyes. “Three. But that was plenty! Talking about themselves all night long, then having to go home early to get their beauty sleep. Using me to get closer to Julia, to be considered for showings, print ads, you name it. Can’t pass a mirror without stopping, checking their hair. Women all but pushing me out of the way to get close to them.”
“Have I done any of that?” Colin asked her as they crossed the street together.
“No,” Holly admitted, making a face. “But you were at the table while the girl at the counter pumped me about you, wanted to know if I was your
sister.
Do you know how insulting that is? And that girl back there, in the crosswalk. She was going the other way, then stopped dead in the middle of the street, turned
around to follow you. She’s
still
following us. You turn heads, Harry, don’t you know that?”
Colin turned his own head, looked at the woman walking behind him. Pretty, about five foot six, long legs, silky blond hair. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Then realized what he was doing.
“You smiled at her, didn’t you?” Holly asked as they continued walking along the pavement, in the direction of the Waldorf-Astoria.
“Well, of course I did. She smiled at me. I’m not impolite.”
“No, of course you’re not. And you can’t help it. You’re handsome. Drop-dead gorgeous. I’m walking with you, hut I might as well be invisible. Models. Male, female. They’re just larger than life, too pretty to be
r
eal. And you’re better than most of them, Harry, no question. I just figure I can have enough of an inferiority complex on my own. I don’t need competition from my date.”
“So you don’t date models because you think they make you invisible, because you’re not some too skinny, plastic, pretty model?”
Holly stopped, stepped in front of him. “I’m not that shallow,” she told him angrily.
“No, you’re not. I never said you were.”
Holly closed her eyes, shook her head. “I’m sorry. You asked me why I don’t date models, and I got carried away, got ridiculous. I don’t date models, Harry, because I dated one for six months, only to figure out he was in love with himself, not me. So, handsome as you are, nice as you seem to be, and much as I’m attracted to you, this is our first and only date. There, does that answer your question?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Colin said, nodding his head. Then he smiled. “So, you admit you’re attracted to me?”
“Oh Lord,” Holly said on a sigh. “I’m going in now, Harry. Good night.”
“Wait,” he said, following her. For a little woman, with short legs, she sure could cover ground in a hurry. “If we’re only going to have one date, don’t you think we could make it last longer than an hour?” He blocked her progress, put his hands on her shoulders, did his best to look comic and soulful at the same time. “Then I’ll always have my memories.”
“Your memories. You’re kidding, right?”
“Absolutely,” Colin agreed, smiling, returning her smile. “Come on, it’s not quite dark yet. Let’s walk some more.”
“Only so you can have memories,” Holly told him as they stepped back out onto the pavement.
They walked along, first hand in hand, then arm in arm, discussing the merits and plot flaws of all the Bruce Willis
Die Hard
movies.
Co
li
n told her about Paris, and Holly told him about her mother who, according to that good woman, still
s
aid novenas that her youngest daughter would find a good man, settle down, have a half-dozen kids, forget
“
this career business.”
Colin told her about the time he’d traveled around Europe after college, with only a backpack and his
“
hitching finger,” seeing the sights, touring museums,
sleeping in youth hoste
ls, getting pie-eyed during Ok
toberfest in Germany.
Holly countered with a tale about Girl Scout Camp, and how she’d taken one look at the wooden outhouse and phoned home, demanding her father immediately come and get her. “I can’t imagine traveling through Europe with only a backpack. I like my luxuries, and am not afraid to admit it.”
He told her about his parents’ den, the one with trophy fish on the walls and ancient bits of broken pottery on the tables.
She told him about her mother’s collection of ceramic salt and pepper shakers and her dad’s pride in having every copy of
National Geographic
ever printed.
They laughed. They argue
d politics, but only because Coli
n deliberately disagreed with her for a while, as he got a kick out of the way she looked when she got indignant. They stopped at a small delicatessen and shared a corned beef on rye sandwich between them while the conversation skipped from current events, to books they’d read, to why all boy bands should be bound, gagged and made to promise never to sing again until they could find one note and stick to it.
As they turned yet another co
rn
er, and the Waldorf-
Astoria was in front of them yet again, Colin had already been mentally kicking himself for about an hour over his deception.