Caught Up in Us (6 page)

Control
. I had to stay in control,
so I didn’t open the email right away. Instead, I triple-quadruple
checked the charms in the inside pocket of my purse, I appraised my
lipstick in the train window, and I peered at the time on my watch.
Then, as if I’d proven myself to the judge and jury of me, I took a
breath, and calmly tapped on the note.

Kat — I trust we’re still on for
tomorrow? I’ll send my car to pick you up at 9 a.m. if that works
for you. Are you one of those rare breeds who can manage the
morning without caffeinated assistance? (By the way, if I was an
emoticon guy I’d insert one here, but I’m not a practitioner of
smiley face symbols and/or Internet abbreviations.) If not, please
let me know your caffeine preferences these days and whether you
like coffee, tea or one of those fluffy drinks with lots of milk
and made-up sounding names.

My best,

Bryan

I re-read the
note several times, always stopping at the same spot —
these days
. Had he truly
forgotten my tastes? He knew well and good that I worshipped at the
altar of fluffy drinks with frothy flavors. Maybe he was simply
playing along with the whole “we just met routine” he’d tried on
the other day in Washington Square Park. Or maybe he’d forgotten
the details of me since I’d never really mattered to him. Fine, it
was just a coffee preference we were taking about. Still, if he
couldn’t remember, then I didn’t want him to know I marked time on
my calendar by counting down the days until Starbucks added salted
caramel hot chocolate to its menu for those delirious few weeks
near the holidays. I didn’t want to confess I’d try any drink with
an -ino ending.

I hit reply.

Bryan — The time is fine. I’ll
take my coffee with a splash of cream, please.

Best,

Kat

I re-read my
note. It didn’t sound like me one bit. Normally, I’d try to say
something clever in reply, like
I am not
familiar with the concept of being perky, peppy or even awake sans
those magical energy imps found in coffee or tea
. But he hadn’t earned the right to banter again. Besides, if
I didn’t let him in, he couldn’t hurt me. The train pulled into my
stop and I exited, walking quickly up the steps and into the
sunshine of a late Manhattan morning. As I waited for the light at
the crosswalk, I glanced at the screen to see Bryan had already
written back.

Kat — Funny, I seem to recall you
were rather fond of caramel-itos and mocha-treat-os. Wondering what
else I’ll learn about how your tastes have changed in the last five
years. Oh wait, we’re starting over, so this is all new information
to me. Black coffee with a touch of cream it is then.

No emoticon inserted here
intentionally even though I would wink if you were here in
person.

My best,

Bryan

I fumed and I soared at once. How
could be possibly act like we were starting anything over? Had he
forgotten the way he’d dumped me? And yet, I felt the tiniest zing
race through me when I read his words. Because he did remember
details of me. But it was time for my meeting, so as I walked into
a small restaurant with crisp white tablecloths, stainless steel
vases holding lilies, and waiters wearing perfectly knotted ties, I
extradited Bryan and his coffee winks from my brain.

*****

Mrs. Claire Oliver ordered a Cobb
salad with the dressing on the side. I followed her low-cal lead,
opting for a Caesar with light dressing. She drank iced tea and I
did the same. She was a pretty woman, with dark blond hair, cut in
a straight and sharp bob, haunting brown eyes, and creamy white
skin. She wore a sea-green blouse, designer jeans that probably
cost more than my rent, and a pair of suede cutout Giuseppe Zanotti
heels that were the height of haute couture. She was impeccably put
together, like a Hollywood star appearing on a talk show, and she
was younger than I expected. Professor Oliver had to be in his
fifties, but I was betting his wife was no more than
thirty-five.

“Mr. Oliver
tells me you’re one of his best students,” Claire said as the
waiter walked away.

“He’s very kind to say
that.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t say it
unless it were true. He thinks you’re going to be a superstar in
your field. I wouldn’t be surprised either, because I think your
designs are top-notch,” she said, and she wasn’t the warmest woman,
but there was something admiring in her tone.

“Thank you, Mrs.
Oliver.”

“You can call me
Claire.”

“Claire.” It
felt funny to call her by her first name. She was my professor’s
wife, she was older and she was so perfectly high-fashion that I
felt as if I should be deferential.

“Kat, the reason I wanted to have
lunch with you is I have a proposition for you. Your designs have
such great promise, and I absolutely see a tremendous market for
them. But what you’re lacking is distribution. So I’d like to show
them around to a few buyers I know, get a pulse on the market, and
see if we can’t get you into more stores.”

There wasn’t a chance I’d say no
to her or to anyone making such an offer. Still, I wanted to know
who she was working for, or if she was a middleman for herself.
“That would be amazing. May I ask which stores or which
buyers?”

She waved a hand
as if to say
let’s not go
there
. “Don’t worry about that. My
connections are good.”

I wanted to know more, but if she
was taking a chance on me, I’d have to take a chance on her. We
discussed more of the specifics, the cut she’d receive of sales,
her plans for showing my line around, and her vision for how women
around the country would be giving and getting these necklaces as
gifts come holiday time. I mentally crossed my fingers because
maybe, just maybe, this could help me help my parents.

“Now, you said I could see more of
your designs.”

I opened my purse and took out my
latest necklaces that showcased an array of charms.

She nodded and touched each one.
“Some of your designs have a modern and sleek look. But others have
a sort of European sensibility. Where do your inspirations come
from?”

“Definitely from Paris. I lived
there for a year.”

“Ah, the most wonderful city in
the world,” she said to me in French.

“There is nothing better,” I
replied in the same language, and we talked more about our favorite
places in Paris. I told her I adored the shopping in the Marais,
and that my heart would always be in Montmartre with its curvy,
cobblestoned streets, but that the best deals were to be found at
the open-air markets. “The jewelry there, the charms and trinkets,
and the things you never thought could be charms, like tiny little
keys, are a total steal.”

“You are a woman after my own
heart. I love shopping at the open-air markets with the fruit and
flower vendors and vintage jewelry sellers as much as I love the
Champs-Élysées.”

Then, she excused herself for the
ladies room. As I waited for her return, I noticed a sharply
dressed man enter the restaurant and walk towards a woman with wavy
auburn hair. She lifted her face to him. He leaned down and kissed
her, a long slow hold. I started writing their backstory. This
red-haired beauty and this well-dressed man must be newly in love
with just a handful of dizzying dates behind them, I surmised, as
he kissed her one more time. Or maybe they were each other’s first
love back when they were younger. Maybe they met when she was fresh
out of high school and he was a newly minted business grad. Maybe
they fell in mad love five years ago, and never fell out. Maybe
they were still crazy about each other to this day, and kissed
every time as if it were the first time.

Ha. The whole scenario sounded
implausible. Besides, those kind of kisses only happened in the
movies.

Chapter Seven

Bryan’s sleek black car with
tinted windows was parked outside my building at nine on the dot
the next morning. Even more impressive than the punctuality was the
consideration — the car wasn’t idling. The engine was off. Most
drivers left the cars running while picking someone up, and,
frankly, I couldn’t stand that. I’d have to compliment his
driver.

Then Bryan stepped out of the car,
wearing dark jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a tie with
cartoonish giraffes on them.

“Oh.”

“Did the
giraffes surprise you?”

“No. I just thought you were
sending a car. I didn’t know you’d be in the car.”

“Since I need to go to Philly too,
I figured I could bum a ride with you. That okay?” he asked
playfully.

“Of course.”

He held the door open, and I slid
into the car. I smoothed out the soft folds on my green skirt as
the driver turned on the engine and we pulled away.

“Glad to see you
weren’t idling,” I said in an effort to be civil.

“If I were president, I’d sign a
bill forbidding idling at the curb.”

I smiled despite myself.
“Especially for people checking their phones.”

“Oh, well,
idling
and
checking your phone would get you a jail term under my
regime.”

“You run a tight
dictatorship.” I kept up the volley because I could do better than
mere civility. I intended to be so cool, casual and goddamn witty
that words would become my shield to protect me from any stupid
leftover feelings for him. Vestigial feelings, of course.

“Know what else I’d ban if I were
president?”

“Cauliflower?”

He laughed. Damn, I was on
fire.

“Actually, I was
going to say those asparagus that have stalks the size of baseball
bats. So you were kind of close. But I’d also abolish the
word
mois
t.”

I curled my
nose. “That word must be destroyed. Along with
slacks
.”

He made a
slashing motion with his hand. “
Pants
. Only
pants
!” Bryan gestured to the drink
holder. There were three coffee drinks in it. “As
promised.”

“Someone joining
us?”

“No. I brought you the black
coffee with a dollop of cream. And I also brought a caramel
macchiato. In case you were just pretending you liked black
coffee,” he said, then flashed a flirty smile.

“Why would I pretend I liked black
coffee?” I kept my tone serious, even though he’d seen through me,
and against my better judgement, I found I liked it. But I wasn’t
going to let him know that.

“Who knows? But mostly, I just
wanted to see if I could remember —” he started, then corrected
himself. “I meant, guess. I wanted to see if I could guess what
kind of coffee drink you really liked.”

I looked from the coffee to the
macchiato to Bryan. I let my hand hover over the first drink, then
the second, as if it were a shell game. “Hmmm. Did he guess right?
I wonder, wonder, wonder.”

He raised his eyebrows
expectantly. I reached for the coffee and took a drink. It tasted
like bitter sludge. I wanted to spit it out. I wanted to wince.
Instead, I took a long swallow and fixed on a fake smile. “Mmmm.
There is nothing like a coffee to get the day going.”

He snapped his fingers in a
win-some, lose-some gesture. “Damn. I really thought you were still
a macchiato girl. I even got an extra shot of caramel in it too,”
he added.

I took another drink. I’d never
liked coffee, but somehow the harsh taste was the reminder I needed
not to give in, even to the fact that he’d remembered the extra
shot.

Soon, the car slowed to a stop and
the driver came around to open the door. I gave Bryan a quizzical
look. We’d only been driving for five minutes. “I thought we were
going to Philly?”

“We are. By
train,” he said, then held out a hand.

I waved him off. I didn’t need
help stepping out of the car. We walked into the train station,
down the escalator, to the tracks, and into the first class car. It
was quiet and air-conditioned, with leather-backed dove gray
seats.

“Would you like
the window seat, Kat?”

I nodded, then sat down, wishing I
didn’t find politeness, consideration and manners such a turn-on.
He sat next to me, his leg brushing against mine. I should have
shifted my body, moved a few inches away, but instead we simply
stayed like that, legs touching, as the train pulled out of
Manhattan and picked up speed. He answered emails on his phone, and
I read some chapters in a business book that had been assigned in
one of my classes.

As we sped through the suburbs on
the way to his factory, I thought about the skater gal, and what I
would ask her if she were my mentor. I’d want to hear the story in
her own words of how she started her business. So I went with that,
closing the book and speaking in my best curious student voice.
Because that’s how I was going to act with him.