Table for Two (18 page)

"Hey, I know how to tease too. We all have our talents."

She wiggled off his lap and surged to her feet. "I'll get you back for that."

"Ah, does the lady speak of revenge?" He kissed the back of her hand. "I accept the challenge."

He strolled into the bedroom, before she could reply to his outrageous statement.

Cassie darted into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were only drinks and Jell-O present. She opened the cupboards and saw cans of soup. Where was the real food?

"Looking for something?" a deep voice asked behind her.

She gasped and spun around. Drake stood there fully dressed, swinging his keys in one hand.

"Just making sure we have everything," she said, swinging her arms in an attempt to look innocent.

He nodded gravely, but his eyes danced. "What would you like me to get for you?"

She rested against the counter and folded her arms. "Is that a trick question?"

He laughed. "No. I mean from your house. Are there books you want to read?"

She let her arms fall. "I thought you were taking me home today."

"I'm not," he said, walking to the hall closet He pulled out a black windbreaker and slipped into it. "So what would you like?"

He was doing too much for her. Soon he would become resentful. "Look, you've been really kind, but I think—"

He shut the closet door and rested a hand against it. "You aren't going to annoy me by arguing about this, are you?" He flashed a bland smile.

Cassie shook her head, sensing the temper that kept the smile in place. "No."

"Good. Now what would you like from your apartment?" He picked up a pen and paper from the hallway table.

"I have a book I'm supposed to be working on. It's on a disk."

"That's fine. I have a computer. Anything else?" He soon regretted the question when she gave him a list of items. Drake studied the list, then said, "Perhaps, I should just bring your entire apartment."

"Oh, could you?" she asked sweetly.

He stuffed the note in his jacket pocket. "You're high maintenance. I should have known better. Most beautiful women are."

She wrapped his robe tighter around her. "It's just a facade really. I'm truly horrible inside."

"I disagree. I've been inside you and you're anything but horrible."

Cassie opened her mouth, but no words came forth.

"Good, I've left you speechless." Drake handed her his cell phone number. "Call me if you need anything else." He glanced at the list. "Though at this point I think that's impossible."

She began to feel guilty. "Perhaps I shouldn't have—"

"I'm joking." He tweaked her chin. "You need to work on your sense of humor."

She smiled, amazed that in this odd circumstance she felt so happy. "Thanks for everything."

He opened the door. "This isn't everything. It's just the beginning."

Cassie watched the door close, then turned. The man was a complete puzzle. She glanced around the condo, curious as to what items would give her a clear picture of the man Drake was. He didn't have an extensive music collection, a few classical and reggae Tapes; his bookshelf was filled with business manuals, cookbooks, and travel guides—Italy, Greece, Barbados. He'd highlighted certain cities, writing in the margins what restaurants and dishes to try. Pushed in the corner of the bookshelf was a dog-eared copy of
The Fear of Ridicule.
How could a man who had succeeded at so much still have that worry? She held the book close to her. She would be kind and gentle with him. She sat on the couch and shook her head, sighing. The guy was smart. He had been able to put a word to all the mixed feelings she had. She did care about him.

* * *

Drake heard the door next to him creak open as he placed the key in Cassie's door. A rough voice followed the sound. "Get away from there before I call the police."

"It's all right," he said. "I'm just getting Cassie's things."

The door opened wider. "What have you done to her?"

Drake paused, taken back by the strange question. "Nothing. She's staying at my place."

The man was silent a second. "Then what are you doing at her place?"

"Getting her things."

"Why isn't she getting them herself?" he demanded.

"She isn't feeling well." He shook his head, amazed that he felt the need to answer. But the man obviously cared about Cassie, so he couldn't blame him.

"I see. So what is your name?"

"Drake Henson."'

"Do you have some ID to confirm that?"

The guy was definitely weird, but fortunately he was in an indulgent mood. "Yes." He took out his wallet.

The middle-sized man came out into the hallway scratching his thinning pepper-black hair. Drake handed him his driver's license. The man studied it for a while before handing it back.

"She's done worse." He stared at Drake through pale blue eyes. "What do you do for a living?"

He replaced the license and his wallet. He was becoming impatient, but kept his voice mellow. "I own a few restaurants."

"Names?"

"The Blue Mango and the Red Hut."

He grunted. "My name is Mr. Gianolo and Cassie is important to me. She follows my advice on whether someone is worth her time or not. What are your intentions?"

Drake folded his arms, prepared for any reaction that followed his statement. "I intend to marry her."

Mr. Gianolo's face spread into a toothy grin, making him look both young and old at the same time. He slapped his hands. "Hot dog! I should have known. You're one of those quiet serious types, not like her playboys and poets. I've been waiting for this day. Come inside for a drink, young man."

Drake ran a hand over his graying head. He hadn't been called a young man in years. He began to protest, but Mr. Gianolo had already disappeared inside the apartment.

"Sit down anywhere," Mr. Gianolo called from the kitchen.

Drake chose a tweed couch with pillows in the shape of footballs. Mr. Gianolo came out of the kitchen with a tray. He handed Drake a beer and a bowl of peanuts.

"Don't have nothing fancy. Haven't gone shopping yet."

"This is fine."

"Where did you go to school?"

Drake told him; Mr. Gianolo nodded. "A man of education and manners. A rare breed. You should have seen the first bum my daughter married. And my Cassie's first husband wasn't no good either."

"Ever met him?"

"Nah, saw him a couple times though. Carries his ego in a separate bag." He paused. "He just came by."

"What? Right now?"

"Yep, heard his footsteps. He has a distinct pounding sound. You won't catch him now," he said as Drake stood. "He's already gone."

They talked a little more and then Drake said good-bye.

As he approached her apartment, he saw a bouquet of flowers in front of Cassie's door that hadn't been there before. He picked them up and read the note:
To my dearest love, Timothy.
Drake scowled. He went into Cassie's apartment and promptly threw the flowers in the trash bin. He replaced Cassie's cutting board and knife set with the one he bought and began taking off messages from her answering machine. The first three were from Adriana, who sounded frantic, and then a male voice came on.

"Hey, babe—hon—girl—I mean Cassie. Have a hell of a headache. No hard feelings. Take care of yourself. Kevin." Then, "Hello, this is Glen. Remember our date for Thursday. Bye."

Drake wrote down the messages, then listened to the last one again. It was the tone rather than the message that disturbed him. Who was this Glen
 
guy and what did he mean to her? How many more Glens were there? One thing was for certain, Cassie would certainly keep him alert. She kept an active social life and enjoyed her freedom in this sea of admirers. It would take a lot of strategy to stay on top.

Suddenly, the refrigerator began its strange vibrating dance, and he kicked it. It shuddered, then stopped. He'd worry about Cassie later. Right now he had to do something about that.

* * *

"Who's Glen?" Drake asked once he had returned. "He left a message on your machine." He waved the note in the air.

"Oh, no. I forgot about him," Cassie said, trying to snatch the note.

"Who's Glen?" he repeated.

"Glen Randall? He's a forty-year-old English teacher at—"

Drake shook his head. "That's not what I mean."

A slow smile spread on her face. "Are you jealous?"

"Insanely."

Cassie laughed, certain he was teasing her again. "Careful, I didn't ask you to check my messages." She waved a finger at him. "That's what happens when you snoop. You find out things you might not want to."

He hesitated then sighed. "I was trying to be helpful."

She nodded and her smile grew. "I know."

He nodded also, biting his lip. Though he didn't repeat the question, it still burned in his eyes.

"He's just a friend," she answered. "I'm supposed to go out with him to a poetry reading at eight-thirty on Thursday. Do you like poetry?"

"It seems to make Hallmark very rich." He handed her the note. "So he's just a friend?"

She quickly read the message and folded it in two. "You don't approve?"

"Oh, I approve. If he's anything more, it will give you the perfect opportunity to say good-bye."

"I'm not saying good-bye. He's a nice guy. It's comforting to be with a man with no hidden agendas."

Drake flexed his fingers. "I don't have any hidden agendas."

Cassie tapped the note against her lower lip. "Don't you?"

He took the note and tore it in half. "Actually, my agenda is quite clear."

She pursed her lips and sent him a coy look. "And just what would it be?"

"I plan to marry you."

She rolled her eyes. "You do know how to ruin a good flirtation, don't you?"

"I'm serious, Cassie."

She stared at him for a moment. "Was that a proposal?"

"Not yet."

"Good, I would hate to have to reject you right now."

He sat down. "I know you enjoy your carefree life—"

"I don't just enjoy it," she said firmly. "I treasure it. Being married to Timothy was the lonely hell of just being someone's wife and I don't intend to do that again."

Drake recognized any amount of discussion was fruitless. He nodded. "So he's just a friend?"

"I said yes."

He was quiet in consideration. "What's the name of the other guy you're seeing?"

"Other guy?"

"Yes, the one you're involved with."

She had forgotten about that lie. "Oh, yes. Right. He's out of the picture right now."

"If he ever was in it," he muttered.

She changed the subject. "Did I get any other messages?"

"Kevin has a hangover." He handed her the phone. "And I suggest you call Adriana. She's in a panic."

Cassie quickly dialed, knowing her friend was probably dreaming up horrible events of Cassie's demise since she hadn't heard from her.

"Where have you been?" Adriana shouted, after Cassie spoke.

She held the phone from her ear. "You don't have to shout."

She heard Adriana take a deep breath. "All right. I won't shout. So please tell me where the hell you've been!"

Cassie winced, sure that she had busted an eardrum. "I'm at Drake's place."

"Since the party?" she asked, amazed.

"Yes."

She heard the phone being dropped, a great big "Yes!" shouted in the background, and then the phone was picked up again. "I'm proud of you, but next time call. I was about to send a search party."

Cassie laughed. "It's not as romantic as it sounds. I got sick. And not heroine 'falling in a faint' sick."

Her enthusiasm faltered. "Uh, yes, that would put a damper on a romantic interlude. Are you feeling better?"

"Much."

"Good. Now you can jump his bones."

"Adriana!" she scolded.

"I'm serious. I was so worried you had lost him."

Cassie glanced at Drake and lowered her voice. "He's a hard man to lose."

"Still you shouldn't string him along without satisfying some curiosity. I mean aren't you curious how he is in bed?"

"Not anymore."

Adriana let out a little squeal, then drowned her with questions. "Was it good? Was he good? When did it happen? Where did it happen? Were you safe?"

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said delicately, "it's not appropriate."

Adriana began to laugh, understanding her friend's caution. "He's right there, isn't he?"

Drake was sitting next to her pretending to read a magazine, but she knew he was listening to every word. "Yes."

"I want to speak to him."

"Adriana," she warned.

"I'll be good, I promise."

Cassie reluctantly handed the phone to Drake. "She wants to talk to you."

He took the phone and listened gravely. Soon a smile touched his mouth. "Of course," he said simply. He handed the phone back to Cassie.

"What did she say?" she demanded.

He shrugged and returned to his magazine.

"What did you say to him?" she asked Adriana.

"None of your business," she said lightly. "Now are you two free for dinner in two weeks?"

"Perhaps, why?"

"I was thinking of a double date. You and Drake, me and Mike."

Cassie grimaced. "You're not seriously interested in that guy, are you?"

"He's fascinating."

She switched the phone to her other ear and turned away so Drake couldn't hear. "Yes, and so are butterflies. Unfortunately they have the same IQ."

Adriana let her statement pass. "His band is playing at the Colossal. We could have dinner afterward."

The thought was not at all tempting, but Cassie did not want to hurt her friend's feelings. She chewed on her lower lip. "I'm not sure Drake will be free. I will—"

Drake grabbed the phone. "I'm free," he said, winking at Cassie's stunned expression. "Uh-huh. We'll be there. No problem. Bye." He hung up, flashed a victorious smile, and returned to his reading.

Cassie stared at him, outraged. "You don't know what you just did."

"Yes, I do. I made a date. Now since you had me bring half of your apartment here you better find something to do." He caressed her cheek. "You can't expect me to keep you busy all day. A man can only do so much."