Chances Are (8 page)

“Most of the time,” he muttered. “Sometimes she's worse.”

Dione shook her head, mystified. “I don't want to get into your business, or how you run it but if that's how she is and sometimes worse, why do you tolerate it?”

“I've probably asked myself that question at least a million times. But barring her less than cordial attitude, Marva is the best secretary-office manager I've ever worked with. She's phenomenal with numbers, keeps our books in tip top shape and pays all the bills on time. She's unbelievable when it comes to details that Jason and I invariably forget. She doesn't miss a trick. I think she's just become very possessive of all of us.” He shrugged. “I live with it.”

He opened the door and held it for her.

When they got outside, Garrett walked toward the direction of his car and Dione walked toward hers. They both stopped halfway, looked at each other and laughed.

Typical,
she thought, needing to add fuel to the “I don't want to like him fire.”
He just took it for granted that I didn't drive.

“Should we take separate cars, or would you like to ride with me?”

I should have bet money.
But beside his arrogant assumption, the thought of sitting so close to him in such a confined space going and coming set her nerves on edge. She wasn't quite ready for that.

“Then you'd have to bring me all the way back to pick my car up. It would be easier if I took mine. After all it's
not
a date.”

“I agree. Whatever you say. But it's still no problem for me to bring you back, date or not.” He knew what she said made plenty of sense but he still hoped. “Really.”

The offer was tempting…. She gave a short shake of her head. “No. I'd rather take my car.”

“All right.” He opened his driver's side door. “I'm taking F.D.R. Drive. Do you know how to get there if we get separated?”

“No problem.”

“See you there, then.” He slid behind the wheel, shut the door and turned on the engine, then revved it a few times.

Hope he's not one of those daredevil drivers,
she thought, getting into her car and pulling out behind him, even though she knew she could keep up with the best of them. One of her few passions was long-distance driving—fast. She smiled. Maybe she'd make him follow her.

Which is exactly what he had to do. Dione made it a point of darting in and out of traffic, zooming through yellow lights and staying in the fast lane once they reached the highway.

Periodically, she checked her rearview mirror and every time Garrett got close, she'd dart around a car in front of her, or switch lanes. She didn't know about him, but she was having a ball.

While Garrett kept her in his eyesight, he began to get the distinct impression that Dione wasn't so much in a hurry to get where they were going, but to take a little wind out of his sail. He may have been in control at the studio, but she was making her statement on the road. It was a good thing he knew where he was going.

By the time they arrived in front of the Sugar Bar, Dione felt exhilarated, even though there wasn't anywhere to park.

Garrett pulled up alongside her car and rolled down his window. Dione lowered hers and leaned toward the passenger door.

“There's a garage on the next block.”

“Lead the way,” she said with a grin, and Garrett wondered if she was trying to be funny. He pulled out and headed for the garage.

 

It had been a while since she'd been at Nick Ashford's and Valerie Simpson's restaurant, but it was just as cozy as the last time she'd visited.

The walls were adorned with African masks, and straw accessories that gave the impression of mounted huts on the cream-colored walls, and though the space was small, there was just enough room between the white linen-topped tables to allow for privacy.

But she couldn't have been more thrilled than to see Valerie Simpson sitting at the bar with her husband, Nick, both in conversation with a customer.

“Hi, Val. Long time,” Dione greeted when Valerie turned in her direction. They gave each other a long-time-no-see hug and Nick kissed her cheek. Dione made the introductions and Nick insisted that drinks were on the house for old times' sake.

Garrett worked real hard to be cool and not have his mouth hang open after having been introduced to two of the music industry's superstars. But what really had him stunned was the very idea that Dione knew them—apparently very well.

They were seated at a cozy table in the corner, the only thing separating them were their knees, which almost touched, and the white candle that flicked in the glass bowl.

Garrett pretended to look at his menu, but he couldn't concentrate on what was in front of him. He peeked at Dione over the top of the menu and she looked as cool and in control as she always did, as if hanging with celebrities was an everyday occurrence.

There was no way he could hold his curiosity in check a minute longer. He put the menu down.

“How do you know them?”

“Who?” she asked, coyly.

He twisted his mouth. “You have a strange sense of humor, Ms. Williams. First it's the chase through Manhattan, then gripping and grinning with celebrities.”

Dione giggled. “You didn't enjoy the ride?”

“Very funny.” He looked at her seeing yet a new side of Dione, the playful, teasing side. He liked it.

Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the table. “Fine. Don't tell me. It can be your little secret. But,” he shook his finger at her, “one of these days there's going to be something you're going to want me to tell you.” He picked up his water glass and took a sip.

Dione bit back a smile. “What might you know that I'd want to find out, Mr. Lawrence—one of these days?”

“That remains to be seen. But I can guarantee it will be something.”

She liked the way his eyes had suddenly darkened and his lowered voice reached down into her insides and gently stroked them.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She picked her menu back up as the waiter approached. She ordered the spiced African shrimp and Garrett ordered the grilled salmon.

“So—what made you get into the video business?” Dione asked while they waited.

He gave a slight shrug. He couldn't very well tell her that it was his way of escape from the realities of his life. His one way of creating things the way he wanted them to be. That when he was behind the camera or closeted in the editing suite it was when he felt in control. She didn't need to know that.

“I guess I have a creative streak. I like what I can do with what I imagine. After bouncing from one corporate job to another, I got involved when a small video company came to one of my former places of employment to film a training video. I got to talking with some member of the crew and the rest is G.L. Productions.” At least that part was true.

Dione watched him as he talked, the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers, the subtle but telltale lack of conviction in his voice. She'd listened to enough tales from the girls who crossed her doorstep. The way they were able to intricately weave a story to hide their hurt, their shame, their fears. They had that same look in their eyes as Garrett had now. And she was a classic case with her own version of her own reality.

What was it that Garrett hid behind the camera lens and the dimly lit room?

“What about you? I just don't see you—managing a shelter.”

She felt her heart pinch and her stomach flutter. The positive feelings she'd begun to build about Garrett began to fizzle out like a soda gone flat.

“Who
do
you see managing a shelter?”

He'd done it again. He hadn't meant to, but it just slipped out. But it was the truth. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“What did you mean? No. Don't answer that. Why don't we start from the core of what's bothering you?”

“And that is?”

“Your animosity toward teen mothers for starters.”

His thoughts spun backward to the group homes, the foster families, the loneliness and feelings of not belonging, not being good enough to be cared about, all because of a girl who thought she was a woman and found out too late that she wasn't—at his expense.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers splayed on the tabletop. “It's just that what they've done to themselves, to their children is totally irresponsible and—” He shook his head. “The children suffer as a result. Families suffer and society is made to carry the burden with welfare.”

“People make mistakes, and deserve every opportunity to correct them,” she said her voice taking on a faraway note. “There was a time when young girls in trouble had nowhere to go. They found themselves shut off from their families, with nothing ahead of them but poverty and a long, dismal future. Many weren't up to the challenge.”

His mother.

“Chances Are isn't about making life easy. It's about giving those girls and their children a chance to be contributors to society, not a burden.”

If he didn't know better he'd think she was talking about herself. But that was crazy.
Dione? Impossible.

“Maybe in the long run, but in the meantime doesn't providing all the creature comforts give other girls the idea that ‘making a mistake' is all right?”

She took a sip of her water. “How many stories have you heard about young girls leaving their babies in alleys, in bathrooms, in garbage cans?”

A spot in his stomach started to burn, ignited by the memories of his own beginnings.

“Those are just a portion of them who felt so frightened and hopeless, that was their only choice. My goal is to keep that from happening to as many young girls as possible. And yes, in the meantime there will be those who think they're getting a free ride. But I'd rather that than read about them in the paper. Kids are being tried and put away for murder because they were either afraid to go to their parents for help, or felt they had no choices. Their lives were over because that's what we're told by society—a young girl has a baby and her life is over. Fear is a very powerful emotion.”

Their food arrived and Dione focused all of her attention on the giant shrimp on her plate. She knew this was a mistake. She should have followed her first thought and canceled. She stabbed a shrimp with her fork. How could anyone, seemingly without effort, awaken emotions in her that she'd kept at bay, and in the next breath prove himself to be the king of bigotry, a narrow-minded fool that set her teeth on edge? She stabbed another shrimp.

She wishes that was me on that plate,
he thought, cringing inside each time she attacked a shrimp.

What she'd said hit him where he lived. Maybe she was right. A part of him knew she was, but he wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger. He'd held on to it too long.

He put a slice of salmon in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Would his life have been different if his mother had had somewhere to turn all those years ago?

“What you do,” he began with hesitation, “it's hard for me to accept.”

Her gaze slowly rose and rested on his face. The bravado was gone. The challenge in his eyes and in his voice was gone. Replaced by what appeared to be regret. But not so much regret for what he'd said, regret for something much deeper.

Instinctively she reached out and clasped his fisted left hand. “We all have our demons to battle, Mr. Lawrence. In our own way. I've come to accept that in people. All I can do, all any of us can do is put up a good fight.”

She smiled softly and Garrett felt as if she'd opened the window to his soul, took a peek inside and wasn't afraid of what she saw.

“Is that what you do every day, Ms. Williams, put up a good fight?”

“I give it my best. Just like you.”

He wanted to uncoil his fist, take her hand, hold it, and bring it to his lips. It was just that kind of moment. But he knew better. As if reading his thoughts, she took her hand away.

He gave her a half smile. “It seems as if we may have crossed one of the great divides. I think that constitutes the use of first names. My friends call me Gary.”

Dione lowered her gaze a moment, her heart beating a bit too fast, then looked up. “Mine call me Dee.”

“Friends?”

“Friends.”

 

They spent the balance of the meal sharing stories about their careers, her early days in real estate and his in video. Garrett had her choking on her wine spritzer with a story about a crazy request he'd gotten from a ninety-year-old client who ambled into his office about three weeks into operation and asked for an X-rated video of him and his thirty-year-old wife. And the array of clients who, no matter how hard you tried, were never satisfied, even though you'd done exactly what they asked. “The problem is, they don't know what they want to begin with,” he said.