Sleeping with the Fishes (14 page)

"He's a
dumbass
. Anybody who'd let you go isn't worth a nanosecond of my time. Or yours."

"Oh, Jonas," she sighed. There was more of that tantalizing rustling. "You're so very good for my ego!"

"
Dr.Bimm
is lucky to have a friend like you," Dr. Barb was saying over arctic char half an hour later. They were at the
Legal's
right by the NEA, within sight of the building in her charge. As long as she was sitting where she could see tourists weren't stampeding out, or the building wasn't collapsing in flames, she was almost relaxed. "It was so sweet of you to take me shopping.
Especially when you were the one who needed a new shirt."

Note to self: Fred owes me a new
shirt,
I ruined a Ralph Lauren polo for that ungrateful harpy
! "Yeah, well, I was free. And it was fun. I love to shop. And I got three new shirts out of it, too." Dr. Barb had insisted on paying for his clothes, even though he'd dunked his coffee on himself on purpose. And Fred
still
owed him a new shirt. He could have been scalded to death!

"I don't understand how it's possible for a man like you to have a free Saturday. Why haven't you ever settled down, Jonas?
Too young?"

He laughed. "You're talking like you're ready for a nursing home. You've only got about fifteen years on me."

Dr. Barb looked away. "Ah—don't remind me. But let's get back to you. Why hasn't someone snapped you up?"

"Well. I've been—I mean, you know, I see people. I get out. A
helluva
lot more than you NEA geeks, that's for sure."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I think you should set your goals a bit higher."

He laughed again.
"Right, right."
The waitress brought him his
appletini
and a ginger ale for Dr. Barb. They clicked glasses. "To the new, sexy, awesomely gorgeous you, who really isn't new, but now other people will figure it out, too."

She blushed—God, he didn't know women still
did
that!—and they clinked glasses again. Then he resumed the chatter that either irritated Fred or bored the hell out of her, but which the luscious Dr. Barb appeared to find fascinating.

"Anyway, I see people and go out and there's always a party going on and stuff like that, but I just, you know, haven't found that special someone."

"That's amazing to me. You must have people lining up."

"Well… I don't know about that… but I've kind of got a crush on someone. So it makes it hard to want to get to know someone
else
, get it?"

Dr. Barb nodded. "Of course, I understand perfectly. What is that you're drinking? It's the color of lamb jelly."

"
Appletini
.
Try."

She picked up his glass and took a sip, raised her eyebrows, and took another one. "Oh. That's wonderful! I'll have one when I'm not working."

"You're
not
working today, Dr. Barb."

She giggled.
Giggled
.
He thought it was adorable. He wanted her to do it again.
Maybe if I juggled
? "Oh yes I am. I'm going back after lunch."

"You can't. After lunch we're going to
Sergei's
."

"Who?"

"Only the hottest stylist in town right now, booked for months, but he owes me a favor—I introduced him to his husband—so he'll see you. And he'll give you a discount on the cut."

She shook her head and set his glass down. "No, Jonas. No hair cut. No
Sergei
."

"But you're so closed to goddess-hood!" he wailed.

"Goddess-hood?
Oh, Jonas. We have to stop. You're going to give me a swelled head. Soon I'll forget I'm a middle-aged frump and then where would we be?"

He stared at her.
"Frump?
Frump
?" he repeated, incredulous. Okay, maybe that last one was a little loud; the table in front of them turned to look.

"Dr. Barb, when we were in that department store with all the mirrors, did you bother to look in any of them? You're as far from a frump as—as—" He groped for a simile. Or was it a metaphor?
"As Fred is from Miss Congeniality."

She reached across the table and took his hand.
Took.
His.
Hand
! "Jonas, you're so sweet. You've given my ego such a boost, I can't thank you enough. And I'm thrilled that you see me that way, really I am, even if I can't quite make that leap myself. Now, you've done so much for me I'd like to do something for you. Tell me about this crush you have. Maybe we can get you hooked up, as the kids say."

Oh. Gulp
. "Well… I've known this person for years but haven't really screwed up the courage to get to know them very well. I can hardly even be in the same room—you know how it is."

Dr. Barb nodded. "Now, Jonas, you listen to me."

"Sterner."

She looked puzzled, but raised and hardened her voice. "Now, Jonas, you listen to me." He got all tingly when she used her schoolteacher voice. "You are a wonderful guy: handsome, funny, smart, sweet. You're going to make some man very happy. The trick is finding Mr. Right, as they say."

"What?"

"You've got a lot to offer some lucky fellow, and I'm sure the gentleman you've got a crush on will see that if you can just get to know him a little better."

"But—" In his surprise, he blurted out the truth. "But
you're
the gentleman I've got a crush on!"

They stared at: each other. Dr. Barb froze with her ginger ale halfway to her mouth. And Jonas cursed himself. This wasn't the first time a woman had assumed he was gay, but he never dreamed that Dr, Barb would think—
Couldn't
she tell he could hardly keep his hands—Couldn't she
tell
?

"But—you're gay. You're Dr.
Bimm's
gay best friend."

"I'm not gay."

"But you are."

"Dr. Barb," he snapped, "I think I would know, okay? Trust me, I'm not even bi. I'm just very
very
very
secure in my masculinity, okay?"

Color began to climb in her face. "But—you like to—"

"
Metrosexual
."

"But you also like—"

"Secure in my masculinity."

Now she was red faced and stammering. "But I—I never s-see you w-with any girls—women, I mean—"

"You've never seen me with anybody."

She closed her mouth so
quickly,
he heard the click of her teeth coming together. When she spoke, her voice was very small and she sort of breathed the whole thing out, really fast.

"
Youmeanrmtheoneyou'vehadacrushonallthis
-time?"

"Sure. I liked you the first time I saw you, even though you were wearing that awful green pantsuit under your lab coat."

"But Jonas—I'm so much older than—"

He snorted. "Fifteen years—"

"Sixteen, I believe."

"—Big deal, that hardly makes you Methuselah. And I
love
older women.
Love.
Them.
Especially really smart ones.
Especially authority figures.
Especially—never mind, I think you've had enough shocks for one day."

"It's just that I never—I mean, Fred never—and I never had—I mean you never said—I mean—" She was looking around wildly, possibly for the fire exit.

"Believe it or not, I know what you're thinking. You thought you were having a totally platonic sexual tension free morning with a gay guy who would never ever have sex with you, and now that you're replaying the morning, you've realized we were actually on a date and I saw your bra in the dressing room."

She was spry, that Dr. Barb. She was on her feet and he hadn't seen her move. "No, I'm—it's impossible. It's just not possible." She threw her napkin down on the table.

"Which part? The part where I've been crushing on you for six years, or the fact that you've been the object of my fantasies? Or the part where I think you're hot and gorgeous?
Or the part where I'm not crushing on Colin Farrell instead of you?"

But he was talking to nobody. She had turned and run out of the restaurant.

"Waitress!
Three more, please."

He laid his head on the table, pulled out his cell, and stabbed Fred's number.

"What?"

"Dr. Barb's on her way back."

"Okay. We've done about all we can here, anyway. Everybody wants to break for something to eat.
Wanna
come?"

"Frankly, no."

"Oh. Are you all right? You sound kind of… hollow."

"My heart has been stomped on."

"So no lunch then?"

"No."

"Okay, well, bye."

Fred hung up. He didn't hold it against her. It just wasn't in her nature, when she was working on a thorny problem, to notice anything else.
Or anyone else.

Besides, for once in his life, he had no urge to tell Fred anything.
At all.

Fred hung up. "He sounded weird."

"I've just met him, but are you surprised?"

"No, really, even for Jonas."
She shrugged. She had enough problems right now. "I'll talk to him later. He'll magically show up and find me, probably when I least expect it. That's his super power."

"Ah, I wondered if bipeds had any abilities beyond destruction."

"Well," Thomas said cheerfully, opening the door for Fred, "some of us can toss princes ass over teakettle into fish tanks."

Fred snickered; she couldn't help it—it
had
been funny. Thomas stepped in behind her, neatly cutting
Artur
off so that he nearly walked into the door frame.
Artur
in turn gave Thomas a "friendly" shove—and he nearly went sprawling into the wall.

She turned and frowned.
"Play nice, you two."

"What?" Thomas said innocently.

"Little Rika, you have a suspicious mind."

"I have a headache from the trouble you two are causing, not to mention all the shit's that's probably still in my lungs." That was a small lie; she didn't have a headache. She never got sick. But still. They were driving her to one, and that was bad enough.

"
Legal's
okay?"
Thomas was asking, shouldering into a leather jacket. "Or do you want to go back to that sushi place? Art? You need raw fish?"

"No. I can eat many of your foods."

"Uh, you guys—aren't you going to be cold? I mean, it's probably only sixty degrees outside today." He gestured to their T-shirts and shorts.

Fred and
Artur
looked at each other, then at Thomas. "No."

"Oh.
Right.
Well then. Fancy? Or fast?
Raw or cooked?
Or
Souper
Salad?
Subway?
Clam Shack?"

"Let's go to
Faneuil
Hall," Fred suggested. "
Artur
can get a look at all kinds of stuff. And there's bound to be something there for all three of us." Also: she loved
Faneuil
Hall. Well.
The food.
Not the crowds.

It was only a few blocks from the NEA, and they were there after five minutes of brisk walking. Brisk walking in silence, Fred was relieved to see. She felt exhausted: not just physically—in fact, not physically at all—her brain was tired. Being around
Artur
and Thomas was like walking a tightrope.
Made of glass.
In bare feet.

And their little shit problem—when she got hold of the nasty fuck
who
was dumping his crap into the ocean, they were going to have a long talk.
Possibly in the ICU.

The sights and smells of
Faneuil
Hall lifted her spirits and she quickened her step so that she was almost running to the food stalls. Even better, at this time of day, it was hardly even that crowded.

"Is this a gathering place for your people?"

"Only the hungry ones."

Artur
sniffed appreciatively. "I smell…"

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Pretzels, steamed clams, clam chowder, hamburgers, turkey legs, ice cream, sushi, gelato, bagels, doughnuts, pizza, chocolate chip cookies, milk." Fred took a breath.
"Smoothies, rice, curry, noodles, frozen yogurt, lemonade, enchiladas, milkshakes."

The marketplace was brilliantly lit, and they went into the main building which, from one end to the other, was stall after stall of food.