Chapter and Verse (7 page)

I playfully jabbed at his abdomen with my fist and took a sip of my coffee before leading him back to the table.

“
Good-luck with that Wolf.  I don’t trust anyone to begin with.  So trusting you was a giant leap of faith for me.  Trusting you again?  Highly doubtful.”

I was opening the muffin bag so I missed the brief look of grief and pain that flashed in Deacon’s eyes.

“
Blueberry?  Fair guess.  But next time, grab a chocolate one too.”

I handed him a muffin and I smiled, but the smile I got in return was forced and never touched his eyes.  Something I said chased his dimples away and I felt the sadness pass between us.  I couldn’t take it back and I wouldn’t if I could.  If we were going to be friends, there had to be honesty.  We’d never have anything if we rebuilt everything on playful lies meant to soothe hurt feelings.  Something needed to be said and I felt that I had to be the one to say it.  I reached across the table and took his warm hand in mine.  He squeezed and I squeezed back.

“
Deke, if we’re gonna do this, there has to be honesty between us.  I can take the pain, I can’t take the lie.  That will kill me every time and I’ll walk away.  Every time.  You say you never apologize?  Well I never give second chances.  But here we are.  You’re apologizing to me and I’m giving you another shot.  I don’t know what that means, but I have a theory.  You wanna hear it?”

“
I do indeed.”

“
Alrighty then.  I think we see something in one another that’s strangely familiar.  Maybe something that we see in ourselves.  Maybe it’s something we’re missing that’s right there within reach.  Who knows?  Whatever we see in one another, it’s something we want to keep and that makes it something worth trying for, to both of us.  So you apologize and I forgive.  We’ll build this friendship and I’ll write your bio.  You’ll learn it’s latte’s and chocolate muffins and I’ll remember it’s cream AND sugar in your coffee.  I’ll cook and you’ll drop in and eat.  We’ll become friends.  How does that sound?”

This time the smile was genuine and I relaxed and took a bite of muffin.

“
It sounds like something I need in my life.  You’re a righteous chick.  You know that Dorothy Lincoln?”

“
I do indeed Deacon Sloan.  You feel like answering some questions today?”

“
You gonna take a shower first?”

“
Are you implying I smell funny?”

“
Nope.  Just asking the question.”

“
Then probably.  You goin’ home or hangin’ out?”

“
Hangin’ out I guess.”

“
Good.”

“
Good.”

We ate our muffins and drank our coffee and it was.  Good I mean.

At this point in my story, I could tell you that I had some life changing epiphany during our day together, but that would be a lie and I’m not about to start telling porkies now.  I’m not a big fan of lies.  They tend to grow hairs and it never ends.  The truth is what it is and you never have to wonder later on what you said in the first place.  Truths can be verified.  Lies have to be justified.  So we’ll stick with the truth.

I showered and he cleaned the kitchen which involved washing two cups and wiping down the table.  No biggie, but I had to wonder how many times the CEO of a major corporation had performed that simple chore.  In all fairness, he did it like a pro.  When I emerged twenty minutes later fresh as a daisy and ready to roll, his shoes were near the door and he was draped casually across my sofa, flipping through my TV channels.  I took a minute to study him.

My folks hired a decorator to do their house.  It’s beautiful and had been featured more than once in architectural and decorating magazines.  It’s an old but remodeled Connecticut estate-slash-farmhouse (yeah right) on twenty acres of land in the Connecticut countryside.  The whole thing was fenced by this immaculate white picket fence that looked impressive when driving by, but would hold nothing back should it try to escape.  That’s why we never had pets.  The reason I’m mentioning this, is because I always wanted something that felt like a home and not a decorator’s dream.  I wanted something that reflected me.

I may own an apartment in the city, but I picked out every stick of furniture, every piece of art, every rug.  If you spent any time at all in my apartment, you’d know enough about me to claim me as a family member.  I’m that transparent most of the time.  It’s probably a character flaw, but I prefer to think of it as an asset.  There’s no guesswork where I’m involved.  I say what I think and tell you how I feel.  Unless I decide that you’re not worth the effort.  Then you’re looking at a black hole folks.  I’m as good as gone.

The reason I’m bringing this up now, is that I never really noticed if other people were as comfortable in my space as I am.  I mean I know that Melody is, she makes herself at home every time she’s here and I like that.  It proves that I’ve created a comfortable place for others as well.  But I don’t have any friends to speak of and although that may be embarrassing as a whole, I blame my blistering schedule.  I have downtime, but not much and that doesn’t lead to sustainable friendships.  Living on the fourteenth floor with only one neighbor that I’ve seen twice since I moved in, doesn’t help either.

My sofa is the color of mahogany and the fabric is a tight weave that projects warmth.  It’s large, deep and overstuffed.  It’s perfect for napping or lounging.  It’s a couch potato’s dream sofa.  There’s a matching armchair that would seat two people comfortable and a matching ottoman that you could do a jigsaw puzzle on.  It’s placed at a jaunty angle next to the sofa, with a beveled wooden end-table in between.  The matching end-table is on the other side of the sofa and both tables have one shallow drawer.  I’m a huge fan of drawers and theories (the theory part you probably guess by now).  I store remote controls and writing tablets with pens in the drawers, as well as extra batteries for the remotes.  You can never be too prepared.  On the other side of the sofa and end-table is something that most modern New York Manhattan apartment owners would cringe at.  I have a mahogany leather recliner.  Top of the line with heat and massage.  I cannot tell you how many cold New York days I have spent cuddled up in that recliner with a comforter and the remote, sipping coffee while watching the weather play out on the Weather channel.  I am all about comfort, as I’ve said before.

I don’t have a fireplace and frankly, I wouldn’t have one in an apartment.  I imagine Deacon has one, he seems like the type.  One more tool in his arsenal of seduction.  I really need to invite myself over to check out that theory sometime.  Anyway, my TV is a huge plasma monstrosity and it’s mounted on a section of wall across from the sofa.  It’s the only section that doesn’t contain windows and I suspect the architect put that small wallspace there on purpose in case someone wanted a fireplace or a giant monstrosity of a plasma TV.  I opted for the TV.  Beneath it, is a credenza full of framed family photos.  Mostly candid shots that I’ve cherished over the years.  My mother didn’t want them, but held onto them for sentimental reasons.  I grabbed them and framed those suckers, displaying them proudly for anyone to see.

The room also contains a couple of bookcases that contain books, a few souvenirs from my travels, and a compact stereo with a CD player an an iPod dock.  Candles dot surfaces here and there as well as leather coasters and the errant pen or pencil.  The floors throughout my place are hardwood - trendy sure, but also functional.  Carpeting would have to be replaced regularly to maintain the New York High Rise illusion and I’m not into that.  If the wood hadn’t been there, I’d have had it installed.  Area rugs scattered throughout keep the place warm and the noise level down.  The place is painted in creams, taupes, and various themes on both.  It’s functional and warm and I liked it so I didn’t change it.

Got a mental picture?  Good.  Now picture this.  I’m standing in the hall at the entrance to my living room and this is what I see:  Deacon Sloan, one of the top ten richest, most eligible bachelors - correction - confirmed and determined bachelors - wearing sweatpants, an old Creedence Clearwater t-shirt and gym socks.  He’s sprawled comfortable on my comfy sofa, one leg on the sofa, one foot on the floor, his head on the arm of the sofa and in his hand is the remote.  His eyes are focused on the screen as he flips through the channels at a rate that has me questioning whether or not he’s lingering long enough to really know what he’s seeing, but he seems determined to find something.  There’s a cup of rapidly cooling coffee on the coffee table in front of him and I start to wonder if there’s any left in the pot in the kitchen.  If not, I’ll make some.

My grin is in response to the eye-candy and the situation I’m finding myself in.  Don’t get me wrong.  I understand that we’re primarily in a business relationship, I do.  But it’s nice to know that at the end of it, I may have a friend that actually lives in the same building.  As much as he has the capability to really piss me off, I genuinely like Deacon.  I think deep down he’s a good person.  I believed him when he said he didn’t have a lot of experience in the “friends” department and he needs a learning curve.  As briefly as I’ve known him, I can easily see that being true and I have to remember to cut him a little slack until he gets the hang of it.  Having said that, I’ll admit that I’ve never had a friend quite as attractive as Deacon and as well as he can rock a three-piece and a tux, that man is an all out hunk laid out on a sofa.  Am I growling?  Down girl, down.

I waltzed into the living room, making my presence known.  Oddly, I’d also chosen sweatpants and a t-shirt for our casual Sunday get-together.  He looked up and smiled and once again I had to swallow at the sight of those dimples, but this time he didn’t smirk.  That made me feel like we were making progress in the friendship department.  I noticed he didn’t change his lounging position and that felt promising as well.

“
Deke is there any more coffee left?”

“
Sorry Dor’.  I dumped the pot and washed it out.  Want me to make some?”

“
Nope.  Stay there, I’ve got it.  Anything good on TV?”

He turned back to his task and continued flipping.  When he stopped, I noticed it was on the weather channel.  Kindred spirits with a fondness for breaking weather updates.

“
I keep coming back to the Weather Channel.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I was adding coffee to the filter and preparing to press the button.

“
Mind?  I love that channel!  In the winter I’m practically glued to it.  You don’t look like the type though, what gives?”

“
I travel a lot on business and go to a lot of events.  The weather helps me determine wardrobe choices.  Plus, I’m a sucker for weather events.  I even have a small TV in my office that is usually tuned to this channel.”

I carried a steaming cup of coffee with cream and sugar into the living room and placed it in front of him.  Then I picked up his cold cup and carried it back to the kitchen to refill it for myself.

“
I never noticed a TV in your office when I was there.”

He blushed and it looked good on him.

“
I keep it hidden.  I’ll show it to you the next time you’re there.”

I took the other end of the sofa and settled in, placing my coffee on the end-table.  I opened the drawer and pulled out a notepad and a pencil.

“
I’d like that.  Now.  Are you ready for this?”

He started to sit up and I waved away his attempt.

“
Stay comfy.  This isn’t going to be nearly as bad as you imagine, trust me.  Most of what I write will be from responses I get while I’m with you.”

“
What do you mean?”

I thought about how to answer his question diplomatically, but there simply wasn’t a way.

“
Okay.  I’m gonna say something that might be taken as a dig, but it’s not.  I’m merely putting an example out there.  Got it?”

“
Yeah, okay, but I already think I’m not gonna like it.”

“
Oh you probably won’t, but you did ask the question.”

He braced himself for what was coming and I hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as he expected it to be.

“
For example.  Friday night at the fundraiser.  You greeted this ungodly amount of people as if you’d known them all your life.  That was impressive.  My plan was to ask you later on how you remembered their names.  I also noticed that every female under the age of fifty was looking at you as if you were their last meal.  That was impressive as well, and the same question applied, but I also wanted to know how many of them you’d...erm...dated, for lack of a better word.  It’s common knowledge that you’re a devout bachelor Deke.  How do you keep all those women from wanting your balls in a jar when you walk away from them?”

He looked down but he didn’t seem upset.  He was contemplating his answer and I knew that he’d give me an honest one, he was formulating his wording.  Finally, he looked up and glanced at my notepad.

“
I want to answer that last question and I will, I promise.  I need to know something first.  Are you going to write it verbatim, or will you make it sound better than how I make it sound?”

I thought about what he was asking me.  I never make promises to the people I write about.  I don’t purposely set out to paint them in a bad light, ever.  That’s not my style.  But I won’t ignore the facts as they’re presented either.  Deacon would be a challenge.

“
I’ll do my best, but understand something.  You have final approval.  If you want something edited, I’ll do that for you.  Fair enough?”

“
Fair enough.  Okay.  To answer the first question, I’ve been blessed with what I call, ‘Name/Face Recognition’.  If we’ve been formally introduced, I’ll remember your name the next time we meet, as well as some of the details of that first meeting.  It’s a gift.  That doesn’t apply to phone meetings unfortunately.  If our interactions are only on the phone, I probably won’t remember your voice.  That’s what Miranda is for.  She always tells me who’s calling.  She’s a champ.”

I made a few notes and then something popped into my head.

“
Tell me about Miranda.”

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled.  I got it exactly right.  Yeah me.

“
What do you want to know?”

“
What is she to you exactly?”

“
She’s my P.A., my secretary, and my confidante for the most part.  We’ve been together five years and she’s never let me down or let a secret slip.  I couldn’t do it without her.”

“
Has there ever been a romantic relationship?”

He furrowed his brow and I knew I’d hit a sore spot.

“
No.  Absolutely not.  Why?”

I doodled on the notepad and didn’t make eye contact.

“
Oh nothing.  I got the impression that she’d like there to be a bit more to your relationship description, that’s all.”

“
Did she say something to give you that impression?”

I rolled my eyes and put the pad down on my lap.

“
Deacon puleeze.  She looks at you as if she’d like to undress you with her teeth.  The woman’s in lust with you.  Are you that blind?”

He shrugged and that surprised me.

“
A lot of women look at me that way.  It’s no big deal.  She understands that business is business and I’m not interested in her.  I allow her certain...liberties that I wouldn’t allow another business associate, but she knows it’ll never go beyond that.”

Now we were getting somewhere.  My curiosity overrode my common sense and I leaned forward in my chair.

“
What kind of liberties?”

He laughed and shook his head.

“
You are so transparent!  Look at you, digging for gossip.  This won’t go in the book will it?”