Royal Bachelor (2 page)

To top it off, she lost the bet.

“I told you those would sell. Never underestimate the power of lonely women and undersexed mothers.”

“But it’s getting slammed left and right by critics!” Alice protested.

Rebecca just grinned. It was already lunch time, so Rebecca was her usual perky self.

“The bet wasn’t about what the critics would say
sweetums
. Now what should we make you do?”

“Can’t you just take money like a normal person?”

Everyone laughed while Alice blushed. Her workmates all teased her about being Miss Moneybags—an easy conclusion when someone with her paycheck managed to live in a New York apartment without roommates. Still, the consequence was that Alice rarely mentioned the “m-word” in their presence.

Clay— accountant bookworm with Hugh Grant’s floppy hair, the color of Richard Gere’s—Alice wouldn’t have minded seducing him but he was gay—said, “No, we need something better. Oh, I know! We can make her sit somewhere she’d never sat before. It will be
inspiring
. Who said that again?”

Alice answered automatically, “Dodie Smith.
I CapturetheCastle
: I have found that sitting somewhere you have never sat before can be inspiring.”Alice immediately snapped out of her geeky reverie. “But I don’t need to be inspired. I’m having a bad day. Don’t throw me to more sharks when I’m already bleeding.”

Rebecca and Marsha, their floor manager-mom-figure, exchanged a look with Clay. Alice closed her eyes and groaned. Damn her mouth.

“Shark’s Point!” chimed all three employees at once.

Marsha looked conspiratorially at the others. She had the sort of warmth and that fashionable bob that bounced and made her look twenty-ish rather than fifty-ish. “For what, three hours? That enough?”

“Plenty,” said Rebecca. “We just want to nip her, not get her nabbed. Don’t worry, Alice, we’ll have Marsha’s man on speed dial in case you need a rescue.”

Marsha’s husband was in the NYPD and he often patrolled the street where Shark’s Point and other rowdy bars were. Comparably, Shark’s Point was quite mellow and catered not to drunks, but “skanks”, as Rebecca would say.

“I just have to
sit
in Shark’s Point?” said Alice dubiously.

“Yeah, easy enough right? But no reading!” Clay scolded jokingly. Alice slumped, she had already thought of a good book to bring. “You know what, I’ll come with you and keep an eye on you.”

They all laughed. Marsha pinched Clay’s cheek. “And the other eye?”

“Looking for cute boys, of course.”

Marsha laughed. “All right, that’s settled. Back to the stacks with you lot.”

They obeyed their manager, Clay with a slight sashay to his hips.

Alice felt safer. Clay was a black belt in karate and wouldn’t let anyone lay a hand on her.

But the day wasn’t done with her yet. Half an hour before closing, Clay began vomiting spectacularly and had to be assisted home. They called his mother, who cried, thinking Clay was dying. Clay cursed them for making his mom cry. It was only bad turkey from the sub vendor.

Alice went alone to Shark’s Point.

Rebecca tried to come with her, but Alice convinced her to stay home for backup. What would happen to Rebecca if she did come? Clay had already been touched by the bad luck dogging Alice. Alice would prefer the bad luck to strike her and her alone. What was the worst that could happen anyway? They said the bar man at Shark’s Point was a former Olympic wrestler who didn’t like men who disrespected women, no matter how disreputably the women were dressed. Alice planned to sit her dare out at the bar with the bar man.

It wasn’t so bad. She crossed from the door to the bar without incident, peeling off her winter coat from the biting January outdoors. She planted herself on the stool and watched how much she drank so she wouldn’t risk encountering anything dodgy by going to the restroom. She looked around. Clay would have been disappointed. The men weren’t “fine pickings” as he would have said.

But it was dull. She’d left her phone at home to keep it safe from any mishaps, so she didn’t have any options for private entertainment.

“What are you smiling about?”

Alice stilled. Oh. Here was potential for entertainment. The guy on her left had been there before her. He hadn’t looked like a wrestler or anything scary, so she’d sat down beside him, the side he hadn’t been facing anyway. The rest of the seats had been taken.

Now it seemed the guy himself was about to be taken. Alice smirked at the thought. She didn’t get a chance to hear many pick-up exchanges.

“My mother.” The guy’s voice had a hint of fondness, as if he couldn’t help it, even though it was a stranger prying.

“Oh, you sweet thing! Is something wrong with her?”

“Not really, no.”

“So you’re not looking for consolation.”

“If my mother died, would I be here?” Now the guy’s voice sounded slightly offended.

“Well, sure! To forget for a while and be happy. You look familiar. Have I seen you before, handsome? If your mom’s doing so well, how about we celebrate?” The girl prodded hopefully. “I can increase your happiness. Cloud nine, baby.”

Really? Alice couldn’t help snorting in derision. And then regretted it. Counting and snorting were two things she didn’t have in her repertoire. She always messed them up. Her eyes burned. The bar man was quick with the tissues. What a sweet old guy. She’d leave a huge tip.

Someone was thumping her on the back.

Not the bar man.

She saw the guy from the corner of her eye and coughed some more. Clay would go absolutely bananas that he’d missed this. How did she miss him?

“Ugh, that went down the wrong pipe. Do I have olive on my face?” she asked defensively. The guy was staring.

Before she knew it, they were talking and he’d gotten her a drink. She’d given him her name. Luke the reader. Heavens, gods, goodness. There was something familiar about him. Luke was out-of-place at this bar in just the same way she was. She knew that if he had given her a line or shrugged off reading as something boring then he wouldn’t be so handsome to her. But as he described the first time he had read
Great Expectations
Alice couldn’t help watching the way his Adam’s apple moved under his tanned skin, or how the dip of skin between the bones in his hands created shadows that mesmerized her.

Alice sipped at her drink again. Nuts and Berries, he had called it. It was delicious but she had no idea how strong the drink was, and that put her on guard. Something as potentially dangerous as alcohol shouldn’t be masquerading as candy. There was a chance that Luke could be dangerous or sleazy, but that chance became smaller as he told her about
The Satanic Verses
and flashed his teeth in a lopsided grin.

She wanted to check her shirt’s underarm to see if she’d sweated through. There was no subtle way of doing that, though. She could do without the macho act of getting her a drink without asking her what she wanted, but otherwise he was nice. Alarmingly nice.

Even though her glass was only half-empty Luke was becoming dangerously attractive. She hadn’t noticed him before because he had an air of confidence that she mistook for arrogance. But he had a way of looking at her that made Alice feel as though the bar and the entire world had emptied, and she was the first sign of life he had seen in years. Luke didn’t seem to be a superior donkey either, which was the unfortunately common demeanor of men who read Dickens and freaking Salman Rushdie. He made jokes and nervously pushed his hair out of his eyes, his hands always moving, circling his body like birds.

She liked his hair, it was light brown, as though it had once been dark but too much sun had caramelized it. It moved and flopped over his forehead carelessly. That was good and it made Alice want to reach out and push the loose strands back.

His eyes were dark and he looked Mediterranean or Hispanic, tanned with wide cheekbones and alluring eyelashes. And when he spoke, his hands moved. Like her grandfather.

“Are you from Italy?” she asked compulsively.
Please say no
, she thought to herself. She couldn’t stand it if this man was additionally trained in the art of romance.

“Are you?” He looked at her and her blood climbed and swam around up top.“If you don’t watch it, you’re going to catch fire.” He laughed and his hand moved, as if to touch her blushing cheek. It lingered in the air, just over his drink. Then he smiled and put all ten of his fingers around his glass.

“My mother’s half-Irish,” Alice found herself saying, trying to forget the aborted touch, one she would have welcomed. “And she cursed me with skin that barely hides my circulation. A temper too. But both she and my dad are at fault with that one because he’s Italian. I mean, if you’re half-Irish, why would you mix blood with an Italian? You’ll be creating demons, right?” She was babbling.

He laughed. “Are you a demon? You don’t look like one.”

She only raised her eyebrows at him. If he wanted the conversation to go on, he should contribute. Contribute he did, to her relief.

“I have Spanish blood myself. And French. And Italian. My country used to be a Spanish protectorate. And then a French territory and then British. We’ve only had sovereignty for a century and a half.”

“I can name a few countries that went through the same history. Which one is yours?”

“The Elmerlands.”

“Oh. I’ve never met anyone from Elmera before.”

He smiled, as if liking the fact that she’d referred to his country by its native name. If
Dickens
was her shibboleth, perhaps
Elmera
was his. She could imagine their geeky courtship, him describing Dickens’ marvelous turn of phrase and humor, while she recited esoteric facts about the tiny island kingdom of Elmera. “We keep to ourselves, I suppose,” Luke said, interrupting her vision.

“And you’re a native, a
native
-native, not a tax evader?” She ventured, remembering that Elmera was sanctuary to many filthy rich expats.

He laughed so loud the bar man looked over from the other end of the bar and everyone else turned their heads. It was an authentic laugh, one that lit up his entire face and gave away all his secrets. Alice’s eyes watched with curiosity, a smile forming on her own mouth.

“No,” Luke said finally. “I’m definitely not a tax refugee.”

No, he wasn’t. He was something else altogether. Alice wondered if he was one of her bunch of bad luck, or the sum of the bunch of bad luck reversed.

“So what are you doing here?”

Luke still hadn’t recovered from that urge to touch her. Her voice wasn’t helping. He kept his hands on his glass and kept his knees together and locked onto the bar front. He was on the verge of giggling. As the Americans were wont to say, ‘Holy shit!’ He hadn’t been this giddy over a girl since—no, he hadn’t ever been like this over a girl. Not even when he and Alfred were only twelve and had finally seen Playboy in all its glory for the first time.

“I’m here on holiday with my cousin,” he answered.

“Uh huh. I suppose even Elmerans would need a holiday away from your vacation-destination country once in a while.”

“It’s not so good over there right now.”

He heard the solemnity in his voice and was startled by it. But then Alice was so easy to talk to. It wouldn’t surprise him if he blurted everything to her.

And look at her now, with her elbow on the bar, all her attention on him, giving him the most compassionately curious look he’d ever seen. It was rare to see that look directed at him. People were rarely curious about him. They thought they knew him.

He shook his head. If he blabbed and Alice was less trustworthy than she looked, this could turn into a nightmare in an instant.

“Just crowded, you know.”

Her eyes followed the idle wave his hand made. She was like a cat who watched everything.

“Maybe you can show me around,” he heard himself suggesting. “Are you a native? A
native
-native?”

She smiled. “I’m from Brooklyn but I’m up here now. If I took you on a tour it would be a very boring tour. Museums and bookstores and the like. If you’re used to the fast life from Elmera, you’d have to—”

“I’ll take you.” He blurted. “I mean, your tour, of course.”

She blinked at him, her eyelashes fluttering on her cheek. “I was kidding. I’m hardly appropriate, not your city expert.”

“Let’s meet again tomorrow.”

“No.” That was very decisive and rather sharp, making him wonder how he’d offended her. It was also a word his mother used. His curiosity was piqued. “I work. I read,” she apologized for her bluntness. “I’m busy.”

“Can you please meet with me when you’re not otherwise occupied?”

Now her face subtly softened.
Oh
. She didn’t like to be told. Luke could have kicked himself. Alice preferred to be asked. Just like he preferred to be asked rather than told.