Thou Shalt Not (40 page)

“I used to have a girlfriend named Phoebe. She ripped through my bank account. Two plastic surgeries,” Bernie said, holding up two fingers. “Breasts and nose. And then she ran off and married a man.” Bernie was perched on the edge of my desk, looking thoughtfully out the window at the darkening sky. 

I smiled, stacking the last of the files into the cabinet drawer and pushing it closed with my hip. 

“It’ll simmer down,” I predicted. “Turn into a tropical storm.”  

“Yeah,” Bernie nodded. “See you Friday if we’re not all dead.”

I grabbed my purse and lifted my fingers in a half wave, as I headed for the elevators. 

I’d been in a rush that morning and parked on the street instead of in the garage. The benefit to the shorter walk was the privilege of people watching, and the stand that sold roasted chestnuts. I picked up my pace when the sky started grumbling. Any minute there was going to be a burst and I would get soaked. The real question was if the chestnuts were worth it or not. There was a brief pause as I looked at the chestnut stand and my car just a little ways past it.
Why not?
I thought. 

I crossed the street right before the music store, five-dollar bill ready in my hand. I’d eat well tonight. 

I was right. Hurricane Phoebe slowed her roll right off the coast of Cuba and came gusting in as a tropical storm instead. I’d eaten my chestnuts in the dark, listening to the wind and the rain. Even if there weren’t a tropical storm I would have eaten my chestnuts in the dark. I’m morbid like that. On Friday morning, my best friend called to check on me. She yodeled as soon as I picked up. I already knew she was going to, so I was holding the phone away from my ear. 

“Must you always?” I asked, slipping on my heels and snatching up my purse. 

“I need to exercise my vocal cords before a show.” 

But, it was all a lie. She yodeled every time she called. It was obnoxious. 

“I’m heading to work,” I said. “I have class tonight.”

“Fine! I was just calling to see if you were alive. Saw Phoebe on the news…”

“Good luck tonight, Seets. Love you.” I hung up just as she was yelling something about “Break a leg.”

After college, I came home and Seeta went home to London. She was working in the ensemble of a big time musical. We hadn’t seen each other in three years, but we spoke every day. As soon as I finished law school I’d go see her. Or at least that’s what I told myself. My mother’s insurance money was draining quickly. I could have gone to law school in Boston and had a cheaper ride, but I wanted to take my bar and get licensed in my home state of Florida. The school wasn’t as prestigious and the weather wasn’t as nice, but at least I was…home. 

“Olivia,” Bernie said, when I walked in the door. “I need you to do something and you’re not going to like it.”

“What?” I said suspiciously.

In the past Bernie had asked me to do a number of distasteful chores, including taking her cat to be spade, and taking her greasy, touchy feeley brother for drinks while she was in a meeting.

“I need you to go to a toy store. It’s my goddaughter’s birthday, and it’s too late to order something online.”

I pushed up my bottom lip until it pushed up the top one. 

“Mmmkay,” I said. Because a toy store actually sounded like fun. When was the last time I was in a toy store? I got the logistics of the gift, the age, the interests, and I peeled out of work, glad for the few hours of free time. 

It was eleven o’clock in the middle of the week. The aisles were empty except for a few stragglers here and there. I passed a father and a little girl who were talking animatedly about dolls. She had about five of them lined up on the floor, and she was crouching in turn in front of each one, presumably making her choice. 

He glanced up as I walked by, and for a second, he looked familiar. I didn’t know men like him—with children and camel-colored shoes that cost a month of my salary. I breezed past and found the aisle with the Barbie dolls. Bernie told me to find an ambitious Barbie. A lawyer, but not a doctor…maybe a vet. I scanned the shelves. Most of the Barbies were professional sluts, beach bums or clubbers. I was at a loss when I felt a little tug on my dress. 

The little girl I saw earlier was staring up at me. 

“Whatcha looking for?”

“A smart Barbie,” I said. “Have you seen one?” She scrunched her cheeks up until her eyes almost disappeared. “My daddy is smart. He likes money.”

I nodded agreeably. “I wonder if any of these Barbies like money?”

“That one.” She pointed a chubby finger at a Barbie wearing a fur coat and gold sunglasses. I stifled a laugh and picked the box up. It would be funny to see Bernie’s face…

“Cora…?” A man came around the corner, his face a little panicked. “You can’t just run off like that. I thought someone took you.”

“I’m helping her choose a Barbie,” she said to her father. 

He picked her up, squeezed her, and turned to me.

“She wanted a smart Barbie,” she informed him.

“And you picked that one, eh?”

I held the box awkwardly looking at them, not sure if it was okay to walk away, or if I was technically involved in a conversation. 

“Looks like her mother,” he mouthed at me. “Not smart.”

This time I did laugh. “What does that make you?”

He grinned at me. “An idiot.”

He set Cora down, and she ran off to look at the Barbie house on display. 

I took his minute of distraction to look at his ring finger. Bare. Naked. Nude. A nudist finger. A divorced finger. Or he could have stuck his ring in his pocket to come over and hit on me. He had an accent. British, I think. Maybe that’s how they do things where he comes from. I make to leave; my Barbie and I, when he grabbed Cora’s hand and followed me. She wailed, but he swung her up on his hip and handed her the toy she chose earlier. 

“Wait,” he said. I looked at him in surprise. 

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I’m a pathetic stalker, but I really need to know your name. And then based on how you take this, I really need to take you to dinner.”

“Need?” I mouthed with my eyebrows up. He nodded. 

I looked at Cora, not sure how I felt about her hearing all of this. She was preoccupied with her doll, trying to rip open the package. Every few seconds the package would slip and knock her father in the face. He didn’t even acknowledge it. He just kept staring at me with the most peculiar amber eyes. 

“Need,” he repeated. “Something that a person must have…something that is
needed
in order to live or succeed or be happy.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He grinned. Got another whack in the chin. “Partially…mostly. We will go somewhere very public so you know I won’t kill you.”

“Okay.” I don’t know why I said okay. I meant to say no. It just slipped out. Maybe it was the safety of the cute kid that made me agree. Or the fact that creeps weren’t usually so well spoken or charming. I had limited experience with creeps, so I could’ve been wrong about that too. 

“What’s your name?” he asked me. 

“Uh-uh,” I said. “I don’t want your cyber stalker fingers all over my Facebook profile.”

“Ah, so you have a Facebook profile.”

“No,” I said. “But if I did…”

“I’m confused,” he said. 

“So am I.”

He smiled. I didn’t. 

“There is a McDonald’s on Glades by the mall…”

“McDonald’s!” He looked genuinely distraught. 

“Do you want to have dinner with me or not?”

“I like their fries,” he said. 

“Good. What brand of shoes are those?” I asked, pointing to his toes.

He looked down at his feet, lifting his toes up until he was balancing on his heels. He cleared his throat. “Alexander McQueen.”

“Well, walk your Alexander McQueens into McDonald’s tomorrow night at seven, and your need will be filled.”

“Okay,” he said. His eyes were smiling at me, but his mouth was trying to stay serious. It was distracting. Charming. 

“Can I wear different shoes?” he asked. 

“Don’t be cute,” I said, turning away and heading for the registers. I stopped a few feet before I got there. ”What’s your name?”

He was smiling like an idiot. I think he was looking at my rear before I turned around. 

“Caleb,” he said. “Caleb Drake.”

I Googled Caleb Drake when I got back to the office. He worked for a brokerage firm in Ft. Lauderdale. He didn’t have a Facebook profile either, unless he had amped up privacy settings, but I was pretty good at getting past those. It was a stupid name: Caleb Drake. Pompous—like his shoes. If he wore those things to our dinner date I was going to drop a blob of ketchup on them just to see how he reacted. I wrote a quick email to Seeta telling her about my strange day. She sent one back almost immediately telling me to drop ketchup on his shoe. Great minds, best friends, sadistic women—blah, blah, blah. I don’t know why I hopped on the McDonald’s date train, but I was at least going to have a little bit of fun with it. 

He was early. Earlier than me. This bugged me. I got there early to compose myself. To get a table and be sitting there when he walked in, looking bored. But, there he was, already sitting, tapping his forefinger lightly on the tabletop. He stood up when I walked in, like this was a proper date and we were in a real restaurant. 

We walked to the counter together. He asked me what I wanted and when it was his turn to order he said, “The lady will have the number one with extra pickles and a Coke…”

The lady...

He carried our trays to the table and waited till I sat down to seat himself. 

“Is this an act?” I asked, opening my Big Mac. 

“What?” He looked confused. 

“This whole gentleman thing you have going? We’re in a fast food joint in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re in Bern’s or McDonald’s, a man should live by the same standards wherever he takes a nameless woman.”

I dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it in three parts. 

“What’s Bern’s?”

“A restaurant. My favorite restaurant,” he added. “I can take you there tomorrow, but I’d have to wear my other shoes.”

I looked down at his feet. He was wearing house slippers. I choked on my Coke. He handed me a napkin, feigning surprise. “What?”

“You are so dumb,” I said. 

“Can we have a second date? I heard there’s a great Taco Bell not far from here.”

“We haven’t even finished our first date,” I told him, trying not to smile. 

“I know. And I’m already thinking about a second one.
Need,
remember?”

“What happened with you and Cora’s mom?”

He leaned back in his chair. Wiped his mouth with a flimsy, white napkin. Then he dropped it gracefully on the table. I could see him for a minute, in my mind, dropping a thick linen napkin on the table of an expensive eatery. He didn’t belong here. Anyone who made McDonald’s look classy needed to get the hell out. 

“She got pregnant in college. We had Cora. Were married for about two years before we called it quits.”

“Do you still love her?”

He stared right into me. “I loved the idea of loving her. I loved her legs. Does that tell you enough?”

“What’s her name?”

“Jessica.”

I rolled my eyes. I hated Jessicas. 

“Thanks for dinner,” I said, standing up.

I make for the door. 

“Wait!” he said. “When can I—”

“Tomorrow night. Same time. Taco Bell.”

I pushed open the door and suddenly felt it release beneath my hands. He was right behind me, holding it for me. “I still don’t know your name,” he said, looking down at me.

I got goose bumps. Honest to god. 

“You have to earn that,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”