Robin groaned—her grandmother could not come to her house without mentioning that singularly spectacular event.
“—and I was saying to Elmer that it seems to me you are much happier than we've seen you in some time.”
“What? Happier?”
“Um-hm. Without all the stress of that terrible job and a nice young man to keep you occupied—”
“Grandma, I am not seeing Evan.”
“Well, I wasn't talking about him!” she exclaimed. “I meant Jake!”
“Jake?” Robin squeaked.
“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Grandma said with an impatient wave of her hand. “Your grandpa saw you holding hands, didn't he?”
“No, not exactly, he—”
“Well, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure it out. I can tell just by the way you look at him.”
“How do I look at him?” she demanded, flustered.
Grandma laughed. “Oh, Robbie, you know… like you're in love, honey!”
That stung, like salt in a raw wound. “I am not in love, Grandma, and don't you dare get on your hotline and start spreading that around town!”
“You can't fool me,” she continued cheerfully, clearly enjoying herself. “Why on earth you would be ashamed of it is beyond me. He's such a nice-looking man!”
“I mean it, Grandma! Don't walk around saying that!”
'Touchy, touchy,“ she said, and put her tea glass down with a humph. ”All right, I'm not going to say anything. It's your business. Mum's the word." She made the motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key.
Robin's eyes narrowed. Grandma lifted her chin. “By any chance, did you mention something to Mom?” Robin asked, her suspicions shooting right up to high alert.
Grandma looked off in the other direction. “Raymond certainly does good work, doesn't he?”
“Oh, great,” Robin groused and downed her tea.
Late that afternoon, after El had smashed his thumb with a hammer, Jake finally sent the crews home. They were almost finished with the upper floor and half of the bottom. There was some cleanup work that needed to be done— finishing out the archway they had just busted out, for one— but all that was really left was to move Robin's increasingly large spread of office upstairs so they could complete the dining room. As he walked through the upper floors to check one last time, he paused at the bay window of the master suite to look at the little inscription carved into the wood trim.
It fascinated him, because he understood for the first time in his life what would possess a man to do that.
Speaking of which, he called Robin up, watched her bounce up the stairs, took her hand in his and led her through the various rooms, showing her what they had done.
“It's so beautiful!” she exclaimed in every room. “I can't believe this is the same house!” But when he walked her into the master suite, she caught her breath, twirled slowly around to take in the new wood floors, the ten-foot ceilings and new crown molding, the refurbished fireplace, the restored brick. And the large master bath had been remodeled into a den of luxury.
“It's gorgeous.” She turned around to face him, her eyes sparkling with delight. “It's all gorgeous, Jake.” She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Jake could feel himself crumbling into that lovesick boy again.
They wandered through the rest of the second floor, then made their way downstairs, Jake explaining that when they finished the kitchen, they were almost done with the work. And then Jake convinced Robin they needed to make a trip to Paulie's for a burger or he might very well expire. He promised to be back within the hour to pick her up.
Showered, shaved, and dressed in jeans and T-shirt, he was back by seven, pulling into her drive on his bike.
He let himself in and wandered to her bedroom. Robin wasn't ready, so he lay down on her bed and admired the
very feminine motions of putting on makeup and combing her hair as she regaled him with the tale of Zaney's flirtation with Lucy. “He actually kicked a hammer at her,” she said. They were still laughing about it when they emerged from her bedroom at a quarter past seven, strolling arm in arm down the long corridor.
Robin was the first to hear the knocking, and as she quickened her pace to answer the door, it swung open, and in walked Slick, dressed in strange, baggy striped pants, a white shirt open at the collar, and leather loafers without socks. Behind him was a man dressed in similar fashion, and Robin's friend Mia, who was wearing a little more than a pillowcase with straps.
“Evan?” Robin asked, walking into the entry. “What are you doing here?”
It was a miracle Cool Breeze even heard her—he was too busy staring a white-hot hole through Jake. “I'm sorry, Rob. We let ourselves in since you didn't answer the door. You didn't forget, did you?”
“Forget what?”
“Remember? We said we'd do a little celebrating.”
“Oh God, Robin,” Mia said impatiently. “I told you like five thousand times. We're going out on the boat.”
“Well, you mentioned it, but I really don't remember you saying when—”
Mr. GQ cut her off with a condescending laugh. “Jesus, Rob, it's not a big deal. Sorry if we got our wires crossed. Mia and Michael and I are going out to the boat. I thought you were coming along. You and I were going to celebrate your success, weren't we?”
Robin's back stiffened. She pressed her lips together, looked at Jake, then at her three friends standing there like they were posing for some magazine ad.
Not one of them had deigned to acknowledge Jake.
Robin looked at Jake again, then her eyes narrowed as she swung her gaze back to Slick. “Sure. Jake and I will come along,” she said, surprising the hell out of him.
“Robin—” he started, but she was quick to interrupt his protest.
“No, really, Jake. It will be fun! Evan has a big boat he likes to show off. By the way, have you met my dear friends Michael and Mia?”
At least Michael had the decency to come striding forward, hand extended. “Good to meet you, Jake… ?”
“Manning.”
“Manning.” Michael pumped his arm. “Don't recall meeting your people.”
That was probably because he didn't have any people.
“This is my fiancee, Mia—well, this week, anyway.” Mia was so busy staring daggers at Michael that she couldn't be bothered to get up from the dining room chair she had melted into, and lifted a lazy finger in greeting.
“And you know Evan,” Robin said.
Evan strolled forward, looking at Jake quizzically. “I'm sorry—I'm drawing a blank,” he said, but the sardonic smile on his face told Jake he wasn't drawing a blank at all. “What did you say your name was?”
The bastard knew exactly who Jake was. “I'm the guy renovating Robin's house, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Yeah, that's right. The handyman,” Evan said.
Indignation surged through him, but Jake clamped his jaw shut to keep from saying something he knew he would really, really regret.
Robin stepped between him and Evan to get her purse. “If we're going to go, let's go.”
Mia and Michael were already out the door, an argument apparently underway. That was followed by a brief, polite little argument between Robin and Evan over which vehicle they would take. Robin marched to her Mercedes, jerked the door open, threw her purse in the back, and got behind the wheel. Evan slipped into the front passenger seat without even looking at Jake.
Against his better judgment—and in fact, ignoring a voice that told him to get the hell out of there while he could—Jake got in the back and tried to arrange himself where his knees didn't gouge his eyes. He finally gave in and sat crooked in the seat, feeling one step removed from moron.
The boat, as it turned out, was a yacht.
At first, Jake thought Evan's boat was one of those small commercial outfits they used for dinner cruises, but as Evan went striding up the gangplank, he realized that he had, once again, severely miscalculated the orbit of Robin's planet. As Mia went slinking up the gangplank after Evan on Michael's arm, their argument, apparently, put aside for the moment, Jake grabbed Robin's wrist. “What are we doing?” he asked quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others.
“Oh! Evan—he likes to have these dinners catered on his boat.”
“Robin, this isn't a boat, it's a yacht.”
“Boat, yacht, whatever.”
“I thought we were going to go get a burger. Something really simple, something easy. I didn't anticipate sailing to Mexico .”
“We're not sailing to Mexico ,” she said patiently. “We won't even leave the dock, which is really what's so absurd about it. He buys a boat with his bonus and doesn't even know how to operate it. Look, I know we were going for burgers, but Evan was really irritating me, and I said okay without thinking,” she said, glancing up the gangplank. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. We'll just eat and go, okay?”
“I don't know why you want to have dinner with someone who is irritating you,” Jake said, a little irritably himself. “I damn sure don't want to dine with these people.”
“Come on, it's not such a big deal. We'll just grab a bite to eat and get out of here, okay?” she asked and came up on her tiptoes, kissed the corner of his mouth. Jake frowned down at her; she lifted her hand in Boy Scouts' honor fashion. “Promise. One hour, no more.”
Slick was waiting for them by the time they made their way up the little gangplank, a martini in his hand. Robin walked past him, into the main cabin, but Slick caught Jake with a clamp of his hand on Jake's shoulder. “You ever been on a yacht before, Jack?”
“It's Jake. And no, I haven't.”
“Well, then this ought to be quite an experience for you,” he said and chuckling derisively, patted Jake's shoulder before preceding him into the main cabin.
Robin met him at the door, handed him a beer. He gratefully accepted it, but noticed that he was the only one with a beer bottle. Michael and Mia looked to be drinking martinis, presumably made by the guy standing behind the bar in a white shirt and black bow tie. Robin had a glass of wine in her hand.
Slick sat down on a bar stool, sipped his martini. “Come on in, Jake. Don't be shy.”
Oh yeah, he was really beginning to dislike ol' Slick, a lot (And really, what self-respecting guy wore pants like that?). Jake walked into the room, casually sipped his beer, and tried to take it all in without gawking like some low-rent tourist. The cabin was a huge room, lined with benches covered in thick cushions, the walls in mahogany and brass fixtures. In the center of the room was a rectangular table, covered with a tablecloth, sporting two vases of fresh-cut roses and a six-point candelabra. The table was set with gold-rimmed china, crystal wine goblets, heavy silverware. Each place setting—only four of them, t hank you very much—had three plates, five forks, two knives and three spoons. It was enough to intimidate the most cultivated of souls.
Mia fell onto one of the cushioned benches and sighed so heavily it was a wonder the yacht wasn't pushed away from the dock. “I'm sick of this heat already,” she announced with all due petulance.
“It's only May,” Michael chided her. “Are you going to start whining already? Just let me know so I can prepare myself for a long summer.”
“Shut up, Michael.”
Nice, Jake thought. A lot of respect flowing between those two.
“Oh Mia, I meant to tell you,” Robin quickly interjected. “Lucy was down on Gray Street the other day, and she said Lily's is having a huge sale. I love that store!”
“Me, too,” Mia said, perking up. "But what was Lucy
doing there?" she asked and Jake thought the tone of her voice was a bit derisive—assuming, of course, he was accurately distinguishing this tone from her whine.
“Just shopping.”
Mia snorted. “You must pay her pretty well. You know, I really don't like her very much.”
“Lucy's okay,” Slick said halfheartedly.
Mia shrugged; Robin frowned at her friend. “Why not? What's not to like about Lucy?”
“I don't know,” Mia said on a sigh. “She's just… sort of pedestrian, you know what I mean?”
“Pedestrian? Shit, Mia, that sounds so elitist.”
“I don't mean it to sound elitist, but you have to admit that there are differences.”
“Do you mean in income?” Robin asked, clearly agitated. “Is that why you don't like her? Because she doesn't have as much money as you?”
'Wo, of course not,“ Mia responded with an irritable shake of her head. ”I am talking more about how people like me and you have a different perspective of the world than people like her. I mean, we've traveled, we've been to lots of different places to shop or eat, or whatever… I just don't see how it can't create a difference."
“I know what she means,” Michael said, nodding. “It's like, if you vacation in Paris and Lucy has never been to Paris , then it's sort of hard to relate.”
“So if Lucy vacations in Mexico , is it hard for me to relate?” Robin countered.
“No, because you have traveled extensively. You have the ability to imagine.”
“And Lucy doesn't? God, that is so arrogant!”
Those were Jake's thoughts exactly. If he hadn't heard the whole thing himself, he wouldn't have believed it.
“Whatever,” Mia said petulantly. “And it's really not even that. I just don't much care for her.”
“Maybe I should fire her,” Robin shot back.
Mia laughed. “Would you?”
“God, Mia,” Robin muttered and turned away again to stare out the cabin windows at the harbor water.
“What do you think, Jake?” Slick asked, the disdain dripping in his voice.
Jake looked up, fixed him with a piercing glare. “Think about what?”
“Whether or not there are differences between people who have been accustomed to a life of privilege and those who have not.”
“Don't, Evan,” Robin said low.
But Jake didn't need or want Robin to stand up for him. “You want to know what I think? I think this conversation is ludicrous,” he drawled, gaining everyone's attention. “If you want to believe yourself better than someone else because of a lot of travel or shopping, that's your deal. I prefer to choose my friends based on their character, not their income.”
Slick's laugh rang false. He put down the martini glass, pushed it to the bartender for a refill without even looking at him. “That's awfully noble of you, making all your friends based on their character.” He looked pointedly at Robin.