On a Night Like This (14 page)

“You OK?” she asked.

He stood up straighter. “Fine,” he said. “Hot, that’s all.”

It was cold outside, the city socked in by a damp fog. She eyed him.

“You by yourself?” she asked.

He couldn’t understand—why was she asking? And then he looked past her, at the dining room, and he realized she was a waitress or a hostess and was doing her job.

“I’m looking for Blair,” he said.

“You the movie man?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Luke shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’ve got your table,” the woman said eagerly.

“No, I’m not eating. I just have to talk to Blair. To tell her that I can’t stay for dinner.”

She looked at him oddly.

“Don’t screw with her,” she said.

Luke closed his eyes. “I know.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was peering at him—he had become a member of that awful species: men.

“She’s cooking,” the woman said.

“Can I go back there? Just for a minute.”

“Daniel will kill you.”

“I was warned. This will only take a minute.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“What’s your name?” Luke asked.

“Rianne. Don’t hit on me.”

“I’m not going to hit on you,” Luke said, smiling. “You’re a friend of Blair’s?”

“Everyone loves Blair.”

“I know,” Luke said. “Or I can imagine.”

“Daniel’s out. If you go back now, you may survive. As long as you’re not fucking with Blair.”

“Thank you,” Luke said.

He passed Rianne and walked through the restaurant. The place was crowded, noisy, every person at every table dressed in black or leather or both. Luke felt old and decidedly unhip. A male waiter checked him out as he passed—the guy winked when he saw him push through the door into the kitchen. Someone else who loved Blair.

She didn’t look up. She was at the stove, midstir, her cheeks flushed. He thought of her body under him, his body riding over her, her eyes locked into his, paying such close attention. He turned away, thought of leaving, heard her gasp.

He looked back at her.

“You scared me,” she said. “I didn’t see you standing there. The ghost of Luke.”

“I could stand here and watch you all night.”

“I would like that,” she said, smiling. Her face full of the smile.

“Keep working,” he said because she was motionless, her wooden spoon dangling over the pan, the sauce in the pan beginning to bubble.

She stirred, still happy.

“I saved you a table.”

“Emily came back.”

She kept her head down and worked quietly. She chopped herbs and stirred them into the sauce. She tasted. She added more herbs. She moved to the next burner, turned it lower, added cream to whatever was in the pot.

Leaving Luke to say something. “Listen. Blair. I don’t know what this is. I need to give it some time, maybe a couple of days.”

Blair kept focused. Pepper in the pot, add some fresh basil. Taste. Move to the next burner.

“Get out of here.”

“I can’t just send her away. We spent ten years together. I can’t make sense of this. I’m falling for you, and my wife wants—”

She looked at him. Her face was twisted in anger. “Get out of here!” she said louder.

Luke walked out. He walked past Rianne’s glare. He pushed through the door of the restaurant and then stood outside, in the middle of the sidewalk, unmoving.

Now he could go home. Not to the cabin in the mountains, alone with his dog and his dark thoughts, but back to the old house at the top of Potrero Hill, with Emily waiting for him. If he had waited for this for so long—and he had, hadn’t he?—then why couldn’t he keep moving? Blair. He wanted to be back in her arms, in her bed, and when they finished making love, he wanted to begin again.
That isn’t good enough,
Luke told himself.
All men want that.
His father went from redhead to blonde in search of that. Luke had always promised himself that he wanted something different—marriage, even if it was hard, commitment, even if it meant sacrifice. Yet he stood paralyzed on the sidewalk outside of Blair’s restaurant when he was supposed to hop in his car and head home.

Blair is dying,
he reminded himself. How much of a fool could he be to fall for a woman who was dying? With Emily, he had all of it, the past ten years and the next ten. Growing old together. And they could do it better now—both of them wiser for the experience of the past three months.

He started walking slowly to the Miata. He had taken Emily’s car—it was easier to park. He climbed in and sat there, in the dark, without starting the car. He could smell stale cigarette smoke—Emily didn’t smoke. He looked at the odometer. She had put on a lot of miles in a few months.

He didn’t know anything about those months. She had asked, “Can I stay with you?” And he had answered, “Yes.”

When he got home, Emily had made dinner. She had found pasta and a can of tomatoes to make a sauce.
Someone must have taught her to cook,
Luke thought.

I’ve gone from one woman cooking to another,
he thought. And he imagined Blair cooking all night after he left, feeling the way she would feel.
How could I have left her like that?
He felt sick, his stomach twisted in knots.

He opened a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.

He pulled out plates, forks, knives and glasses. He filled them with water, hers with no ice, and set the table, where they always sat, he by the window, she in the chair to his left. He thought of sitting down to dinner in Blair’s restaurant, the waiter serving him the food she had promised. He should have stayed. He should have told Emily: “No. It’s too late.”

He thought of Emily setting the table for Gray Healy in Noe Valley, just a few miles away.

“You rented that house? In Noe Valley?”

“I saw you circling the other night. You’re crazy.”

“Is that why you’re back? Any man that crazy in love is a man to hang on to?”

“No. That’s not why.”

“Tell me why,” Luke said, finally sitting heavily in the chair. She handed him his plate of pasta.

“I don’t know,” Emily said.

“That’s not good enough.”

“It might be all I can offer you. I can tell you a million things: I got lonely; I missed you; I missed Sweetpea; I wanted our life again. I’m pregnant.”

Luke looked at her. She was staring at him straight on, unsmiling. He looked down at her stomach—the cashmere sweater was long and full—he couldn’t see if her belly was round.

“Whose baby?” he asked.

“Yours,” she said, still looking at him.

“How do you know?”

“I wasn’t sleeping with him.”

“Ever?”

“Then. It’s your baby.”

“How do you know? Goddamn it!” Luke shouted and stood up, knocking the chair back behind him.

Emily closed her eyes and gripped the sides of her chair.

“I wasn’t sleeping with him then,” she said quietly. “I’m three and a half months pregnant. I left before I knew. Three months ago.”

“How can I believe you?”

“You just have to. Please, Luke. Sit down.”

He stepped toward her and saw her flinch again. Why the hell was she afraid of him? “I’m not going to hit you. Did Gray Healy hit you?”

“No, Gray Healy did not hit me.”

Luke sat down.

“I need to know,” he pleaded. “About the baby.”

“Then believe me,” she said.

He held her eyes. “Why did you keep it?” he asked.

“I never considered otherwise.”

He had wanted a baby, their baby, and he had tried to talk her into it for years. She wasn’t ready, she said. And kept saying. She was too young, she wasn’t yet established in her career. She always had a reason for putting it off. Luke remembered the promise that Emily had made with her sister.

“Who got pregnant first?” Luke asked. “You or Dana?”

“She’s two weeks ahead of me.”

“And you’re back because you decided to have this baby—and you thought you should raise it with its father?”

“No. I told you that was only one of the reasons.”

“If I hadn’t come looking for you, what would you have done?”

“I was ready to come back. And then you showed up. Outside my window in your green truck at four in the morning.”

Luke walked away from the table. “Why don’t I believe a word you say?”

“Because I hurt you,” Emily said.

“And now, you’re back.”

“If you want me back.”

“With a baby.”

“Your baby.”

“So you say.”

“Stop it, Luke. Just believe me.”

“What did you tell Gray Healy?”

“I don’t have to tell Gray Healy anything. Gray and I made love every so often. We met right before I left and I liked the idea of something so casual that had nothing to do with marriage.”

She sipped her water, keeping her back to Luke.

“Go on.”

“I was wrong. Nothing’s casual.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Maybe I needed to learn it on my own.”

“And now what do you want?”

“I want you.”

Luke heard a dog barking—in his dream? He was wrapped around Emily—or was it Blair? Was that Sweetpea? Where was he? He turned over and she stirred—it was Emily beside him in the bed; he was home in San Francisco; the dog barked into real life—and he looked at the clock. Six twenty-five
A.M.

Sweetpea barked again. But Sweetpea was at Blair’s, something he hadn’t yet worked out. How was he supposed to get her back?

The doorbell rang. The dog barked again. He turned on a lamp.

Emily sat up, looking at Luke as if terrified.
All of the ghosts we bring to bed with us,
Luke thought.
I’m not Gray. I’m not anyone else
—
was there anyone else? I’m the man who drove my truck in circles around your house.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Luke said. “Go back to sleep. It’s much too early.”

She slipped down in the bed, sleeping immediately.

He pulled on his boxer shorts and padded downstairs.
Blair doesn’t know my address,
he thought.

He looked through the door’s window and saw a girl. It took him a couple of seconds to make the shift from girl to Amanda, who was staring in the window at him.

He grabbed a coat he had hung on the rack earlier in the day. Now he looked completely ridiculous, coat hanging just below his boxers, bare legs showing below the coat. He opened the door.

“Fuck you,” she said.

“Amanda—”

“I knew you were awful. I knew my mother shouldn’t trust you. She doesn’t fall in love, you know. This isn’t one of those things she does all the time. I bet you do this all the time.”

“Come in and we’ll talk. I’ll put real clothes on.”

“I have school. I don’t want to talk.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To bring back your dog. I wish you’d never brought your dog into our lives.”

Amanda looked like some odd combination of high school girl and biker chick. She wore knee-length jeans, black boots, red hair wild around her small face, a backpack heavy with textbooks. Her tank top revealed a tattoo—
rove
—rove?

“Keep Sweetpea for a while,” Luke said.

“Who’s going to keep Sweetpea for a while?” Emily’s voice floated down the stairs.

In an instant, Sweetpea shot past Amanda and Luke at the door and raced up the stairs, barreling into Emily. She was standing at the top of the landing, a flannel bathrobe wrapped around her. Sweetpea seemed to twirl in circles at her feet.

“I’ll explain later,” Luke called up to her, but she was already walking down the stairs to join them.

“Listen, Amanda,” Luke said. “I’m sorry. I never meant it to be like this.”

“I said I’m not interested in talking,” Amanda said.

Emily arrived at their side.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“Amanda,” Luke said. “The daughter of a friend. Amanda, this is Emily.”

“His wife,” Emily said.

“That’s hot,” Amanda said. “His wife.”

She turned and walked away. She hefted her backpack.

“How are you getting to school?” Luke called out.

“None of your business,” she called back.

“Hang on, I’ll give you a ride,” Luke yelled to her.

She kept walking.

“Goddamn it,” Luke said.

He grabbed the truck keys at the side of the door and started out after her.

“Where are you going?” Emily called.

“I’ll be back.”

Luke jumped in his truck and started down the street. Amanda began to run.

Luke pulled up beside her.

“Get in,” he called out the open window.

“Go away.”

“Come on, Amanda. I’ll take you to school.”

“Someone’s going to arrest you for trying to kidnap me.”

“Amanda.”

She stopped, and he stopped the truck beside her. She glared at him.

“Go away,” she said.

“Please.”

Amanda looked around, then climbed onto the seat.

“Where’s the school?” Luke asked.

“Portola and O’Shaughnessy,” she said.

He headed off, down the street.

“How’d you find me?” Luke asked.

“You’re in the stupid phone book,” Amanda said.

“How’d you get here?” Luke asked.

Amanda didn’t answer. She stared straight ahead.

“You walked, didn’t you? You must have woken up at four.”

Amanda shrugged.

“Sweetpea’s not going to be very happy,” Luke said. “Never seeing you again.”

“She’s a dog,” Amanda said.

“You need money?” Luke asked.

Amanda shot him a look.

“I’ll pay you thirty bucks a day to walk Sweetpea. You take the bus from school, take her for a walk for an hour, and I drive you home.”

“Why?”

“Sweetpea got attached.”

Amanda didn’t say anything. Luke drove.
I got attached,
he thought.
But you’re not my daughter. And my wife is pregnant.
He turned on the radio to a news station.

Amanda reached over and turned the knob to a rock station, then leaned back in her seat.

“Why’d your wife come back?”

“She’s pregnant,” Luke said.

Amanda looked at him, surprised. “And you want the kid?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said. “Of course I want the kid. I don’t know if I want the wife.”