Authors: Fran Riedemann
After her and Jeanne’s conversation about her employer, Brittany decided she could cut her exposure to the more sordid aspects of her work in half if she took advantage of working at home; the gossip at the water fountain had become less than intriguing. While she was slugging through editing an article about “Menopause & Sex, Sex, Sex”, she heard her phone announcing an incoming phone call from Chandler & Associates. She could feel her heart rate speeding up. The day the white flower arrangement arrived at her office last spring was the last time she’d heard from Allan Chandler
.
She
wondered why he hadn’
t called her again
.
Eagerly, she grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“
Hello?” a feminine voice replied. “I’m calling for Brittany Foster.”
Talk about deflation! Brittany could feel herself shrinking again. It happened every time. The call was a business call and it was his secretary calling.
“
This is she.”
Just get it over with,
she thought, telling herself it was irrational to be disappointed.
“
Please hold,” the woman said. Brittany felt her pulse rate increasing again
. Hold for what?
A minute later a familiar male voice… “Brittany?”
“
Yes.”
“
How have you been?”
“
Okay, I guess.”
Come on, Brittany. You can do better than that!
“
I need to talk to you about something. I thought we might discuss it over dinner.”
You thought what?
What audacity!
Suddenly he calls and wants to have dinner?
When were you thinking?”
Well, a four word sentence was pretty good
and a
udacity wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“
Well, I have some news for you, so we might as well talk over dinner. I was thinking tonight.”
Let me think; let me think…how does he manage to flabbergast me every time?
“
Sure, tonight will be fine. Where should we meet?” She didn’t want to be too easy.
“
Why don’t I pick you up at 6:30?”
“
Perfect. I’ll be ready at 6:30.” It was immediately evident that she had no will, and now he knew it, too.
The call ended with her wondering how she could possible turn into a robot every time she came in contact with him.
Then she began obsessing about what she would wear. It had been a long time since she had thought about what a woman should wear to impress a man, but subconsciously motivated or not, she was intent on making that happen.
After manhandling nearly every garment in her closet and discarding one option after another. . When she had finished, her bedroom looked like it had been ransacked by a gang of thugs. She finally decided on dove gray linen slacks and an ivory silk charmeuse blouse.
She took a quick shower, mainly to wet down her neglected hair style. After her drastic haircut she now knew it was a myth that short hair was supposed to be easier to take care of than long hair. It took just as long to prompt the short strands into looking like they were windblown. To save time on most days she let it air dry and the cowlicks won, but not so tonight. After straightening her hair and applying her makeup, she put on a pair of pearl drop earrings that had belonged to her grandmother, deciding that would be the only jewelry she would wear. She didn’t want to hex the evening by wearing something Craig had given her. The next dilemma was whether to wear her favorite ivory jacket or a gold silk shawl a friend brought her as a gift from China. She chose the shawl. It would be easier to slip out of a shawl than a jacket, and knowing her, it was likely she would get her arm stuck in the jacket.
Shoes! What shoes?
Thankfully she had gotten a pedicure a few days earlier; something she hadn’t been doing as often since she was watching her budget. Her toes wiggled with anticipation. It had been a long time; she would wear her silver Gucci sandals. She looked in the mirror, and she liked what she saw.
She picked up a snakeskin cross-body bag, and inside its small cavity she put her cell phone, lip gloss, and two Advil. After thinking about it, she removed her cell phone, putting it on the table by her bed. She started downstairs, turned, racing back to her bathroom. She rummaged through her perfume bottles on her dresser choosing her most expensive perfume. She dusted her hair and neck with it, remembering the lingering impression of his scent the night of their chance meeting at the gallery.
She was ready. And, this time she had the advantage of knowing how hot she looked.
***
When the doorbell rang she could see his profile through the frosted glass, and felt herself flush with anticipation. When she opened the door she was pleased to see he looked every bit as good, and smelled as expensive, as he had the last time she saw him. She’d almost forgotten that he had been to her house once before, but that time was late at night, and after too much champagne. She stood there, looking at him, dumb struck, there was no other word for it. But, whether she realized it or not, it was she who had him at a disadvantage this time. She looked stunning and he was equally dumbstruck.
“
Hi.” She volunteered, tongue tied.
One word.
“
Hi, yourself.” He said, pausing to look her up and down. “You look beautiful.”
“
So do you.”
Three words—how pathetic.
There was no denying the electricity that crackled in the air this time, and it had nothing to do with word counts.
“
Is there anywhere you would prefer to eat tonight, or should I choose for us?” He asked her.
“
Well, sir,
since this is business”,
she said, relaxing
,
“I will defer to you.” She hoped she looked calmer on the outside than she felt on the inside, and with some relief she could tell her sentence structure was getting better. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so
fluttery
with a man before.
He chose The Grille Restaurant on South Alfred Street in Alexandria. When he parked the car across the street from the restaurant and as they paused to cross the street, she felt his fingers resting on the small of her back, preparing to guide her. She hoped she wasn’t turning red again, because suddenly she was feeling very warm.
***
Their dinner was excellent. The service was slow, in a good way, giving them the opportunity to get to know each other outside of the reference point of her divorce. Over coffee and a shared dessert he asked her, “Aren’t you just a little curious about why I called today?”
“
Well, a little?” she asked, wishing the reason away. She knew the reason was nothing less than her ex-husband, and that Craig was about to intrude in what had been, up to now, a lovely evening.
“
Craig called me this morning,” he said, also realizing the intrusion.
She took a deep breath, waiting for the bomb to drop. “Of course…”
“
I apologize if I worried you,” he said, aware that she had become suddenly guarded. “Actually this is good news, or at least that’s how I would receive it, were I you. It’s about the BMW.” She nodded, curious.
He continued, “Craig has signed the car’s title over to you, and he told me to tell you that it is yours to do with it as you wish. Obviously if you have the title there is no loan against it.”
She was stunned. “You mean his BMW is mine—that he is giving it to me?” Craig had purchased the car in September, two falls ago, so it was relatively new, and hadn’t been driven for over nine months.
“
But why would he do that?” she asked him, incredulous. “All he has to do is hire a driver to drive it to Chicago, and it’s his.”
“
He didn’t go into his reasoning, but it was clear that he doesn’t want to fool with it. I asked him the same questions you just asked me, but he rarely volunteers anything personal.”
She nodded. That would be just like Craig; just stick to business.
“
If it would help, I’m sure I can sell it for you.” He offered. “I’m paid for my time so I’m compensated. I wouldn’t want anything from you for helping. Heck, I might even buy it for myself; I’m due for a new car. If you want me to, I’ll come over this weekend to take a look at it, unless you would rather keep it. You could sell your car instead,” he suggested, waiting to see how she would react to his offer to come by.
She decided not to remark about his offer to come over yet, leaving that for later. “Whatever the most expedient way to sell it is, that’s what I’ll do. I love my Audi, and his car would always remind me of him—so I’m begging you, please don’t you buy it.” The inference was pretty hard to miss, and she looked at him to see if he was reading anything into it.
“
Since it hasn’t been driven in a while, I need to have a mechanic come over and look at it. I’m sure it’s due for tune up.” She moved on, “I’ve hated having it in the garage all this time, reminding me of things I want to put behind me. It was the one thing I couldn’t donate. No, let’s do this! Soon!”
She couldn’t believe the windfall, and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it.
They lingered after dinner, sitting at their table as long as they could, but neither of them was ready to go home. Instead, Allan suggested they go for a drive. They ended up in the area near the White House, looking at the familiar sites, only for some reason; tonight they seemed different to them both. He found a parking spot, suggesting they go for a walk, and while they were strolling, their hands touched and ten fingers magically found their fit.
“
It’s getting late. I guess it’s time I take you home,” he suggested reluctantly, realizing it was after midnight.
“
I suppose...” For the first time in forever Brittany didn’t want the evening to end.
In the car Allan told her, “Brittany, you need to know, I would have called you long before now—I wanted to, but you never responded to the flowers I sent you.” He turned sideways so he could see her face.
She shook her head, realizing how she had misread his gesture.
How could I possibly have
thought he was mocking me?
She wondered. “You know, I think I was confused by it. I wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic, or if it was for real. I was waiting to see what you would do next and I was disappointed when you didn’t call me again. I’m the one who owes you the apology. I should have been bigger than that, but I was still so raw.”
Unexpectedly, he chuckled. “I hate bringing him into this, but if you think about it, Craig is our matchmaker. I have spent weeks trying to find an excuse to call you, and today he gave me one.”
She shook her head, again. “Now, that is what might be called an irony.”
When they pulled into her driveway he got out of the car and walked her to the door. They stood outside, on her porch, looking at each other, dumbstruck again. With a harvest moon smiling down on them, she looked over his shoulder picturing the giant moon from the first time he brought her home.
Allen spoke first. “Well, since this was business I think we should shake hands, don’t you?” He held out his right hand. She slipped her right hand into it, and held on.
“
I like a firm handshake,” he said, smiling at her. “How about we try a date next so I can kiss you?”
“
I would like that very much.” She released his hand and smiled. “I would like to fix dinner for you here. Maybe after you check out the car you should come in and see my walls—and my etchings?” She could see he liked that. “How does around 4:30 Saturday sound?”
“
Perfect,” he responded. “It sounds perfect.”
She opened the front door and turned around to watch him walk away before shutting it. On his way to the car he was thinking how successful the evening had been. He sat in his car for a long time before starting it.
Chapter Twelve
One Saturday morning Brittany was sitting at her laptop and saw that an email had come in from Gloria Zachery. They had kept in touch after their dinner at the Stone’s, but infrequently, and the exchanges were largely forwards they found mutually interesting.