“Neither of you recognized each other? For real?” Tyrone held the paper up for them to see.
Keila wished she could lie, but she was an awful liar. Reluctantly, she admitted, “I remembered him. But it was obvious he didn’t recognize me so I didn’t say anything. It was just a dance lesson, after all.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t recognize her, I mean, your eyes seem to be boring into her in this picture,” Tyrone remarked, his dubious look turning impish.
Tyrone had apologized effusively for the way he’d treated her on Friday as soon as he’d seen her in the parking lot that morning, and she’d thought him mature. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.
“That’s the way you’re supposed to dance salsa, like you’re into each other. He was just following instructions,” Keila explained, eager to get any awkwardness between her and Jake out of the way.
“You know, I just had a feeling you would be good for the campaign, which is weird because your actual role in the grand scheme of things is really quite small, but I’m telling you I just knew,” Cate rambled on, again too excited to shut up.
Keila’s phone buzzed in her pocketbook then, and though she would normally have ignored it, she wanted something to focus on besides Cate’s zeal and Jake’s indifference.
She quickly looked down to see she had a message from Mark.
Good to know you’d moved on even before I’d even let you go,
the dramatic message read. Keila felt her heart sink. Closing her eyes, she flipped the phone shut.
Crap!
“What’s the matter?” Cate asked.
“Mark,” Keila sighed.
“Maaark,” Cate repeated, her eyes wide, she’d obviously forgotten all about him.
“Who’s Mark?” Tyrone asked.
“Mark is … Keila’s quasi-ex-boyfriend,”
When Keila looked up again, Jake’s eyes were on her, a flash of heat there for such a fleeting moment, she thought she must’ve imagined it. The tingle she’d felt before turned hot. She hated herself for not being able to control the strange sensations he caused.
“All right, guys, that’s enough, we need to get to work,” Jake interrupted. “Cate, please release a statement that Miss Diaz and I only have a working relationship. This will all die down soon enough.”
Cate frowned and shrugged, clearly not wanting to put a lid on the positive press. “Well, at least it brought attention to the music program you’d establish if you’re elected.”
“Right, so if you’ll excuse us, Miss Diaz and I need to get down to business,” he continued. Tyrone wiggled his eyebrows at Jake’s words and offered them an incorrigible grin.
• • •
Tyrone left and Jake looked away from Keila’s worried eyes. What the hell was a quasi ex-boyfriend? And, more importantly, why did he want to know?
Knocking the thought away, he motioned Keila over to the glass-top conference table where he was about to sit. She promptly picked her briefcase up and walked toward the opposite side of the table, her linen skirt revealing hips that swayed gently with every step. She was so different from the women he was usually attracted to.
Jake forced himself to look away. It was Monday and he had tons of work to do. The only reason he’d agreed to meet with Keila so early the first day of the week was because he knew she’d be able to catch a ride with Cate that way. For some bizarre reason, the idea of her lugging around that violin case and overflowing briefcase of hers all over Chicago’s Transit System bothered him. “All right Miss Diaz, where do you think we should start?”
“Please, call me Keila,” she said, hesitating for just a beat before opening her briefcase. Taking out a few pages, she tried to pass them to him, but she had to stretch clear across the table to get them to him and still he would’ve had to stretch, too, to reach them. Unwilling to look like an idiot, he didn’t budge. Shooting her an impatient glance he said, “Miss Diaz, why don’t you sit a little bit closer? I don’t bite.” The look she gave him before stifling a sigh told him she didn’t quite believe him. But she sat closer, and quickly delved into an introduction of her ideas, her manner now formal and detached.
Little by little, though, as she dug deeper into a subject matter she clearly thrived on, her formality gave way to vibrant enthusiasm. Jake felt drawn in by her knowledge and liveliness, and after asking a few questions, he sat back and watched her speak. Her eyes bright, she had a tendency to use gestures to punctuate her speech. It was difficult to take his eyes off of her.
When they got to the drier budget and numbers part, Jake was impressed to see she had a quick mind, capable of turning the problems he threw at her around in her head, coming up with possible solutions in no time.
But inexplicably, the more they got into the technical, numerical side of things — usually his favorite side, the more he wanted to see her animated again.
“When did you begin to play?” he asked, careful to keep his tone sedate, as if he were merely trying to further understand the world of children and instruments. And he was immediately rewarded with a soft smile.
“Third grade. I was really lucky; my mom was able to get me into a school with a music program when I began to show an interest. It was further away, but my dad took on later shifts so he could take me.”
“They must be really proud, your parents,” he remarked before looking down to signal the end of that little segment of conversation, realizing it was better not to get personal. Too late he remembered Cate had told him Keila’s father had been a policeman, killed in the line of duty.
“They were. I mean, my mom still is and my dad really was … ” she hesitated before taking a quick breath and saying, “But he died eleven years ago, and I was only fifteen, so he didn’t really get to see how his dedication paid off.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly, fixing his gaze on her this time.
She didn’t respond, just quickly looked back down at her papers. They went back to numbers for a while, Keila explaining the budget she’d worked with in Pittsburgh and the deficiencies she’d felt the program there had. His curiosity about her again got the better of him as he listened to her speak of Pittsburgh. He cleared his throat. “Cate mentioned you just moved back, are you planning to stay here in Chicago?”
“I want to,” she replied, her eyes taking on a worried look. “I love this city. I’m so attached to it and my family — I feel like I’m never as alive anywhere else. But … it’s not up to me. It depends on where my career will take me.” She looked at him then, and Jake looked away, surprised at how deeply he understood the emotion behind her feelings for their hometown. Again, it made him realize he should stick to the technical stuff.
But now she had questions, too. And she was fixing him with a curious gaze, wanting to know his favorite local restaurants, bands, and haunts. He tried monosyllabic answers and wary looks to bring her back to the subject at hand, while she purposefully ignored his dismissals, teasing that she would shave ten minutes off her bill and insisting that if he knew of a place where they served fresh avocados, he had to share.
She made a note of a
Taqueria
he frequented, and seemed genuinely surprised he preferred authentic dives and joints to expensive restaurants. “I had you pegged as someone who only ate in places where a plate of fish eggs with a sprig of something exotic on the side was considered dinner.”
Though they didn’t frequent the same places, he soon realized that, like him, she thrived on new experiences. Her enthusiasm had him asking a few questions about places she’d mentioned and pretty soon, they’d veered off subject completely.
They’d both been to just about every festival the city offered. To her, the Chinese Moon Festival was enchanting with its inspired legends. To him it was all about the moon cakes. She loved the color and wonderful noise of the Cinco de Mayo, Puerto Rico, and St. Patrick’s parades, while he enjoyed getting lost in the crowds, eating fantastic food, and watching people interact.
“You know, I sometimes feel like I can travel the world on the L,” Keila said, her eyes smiling.
Jake nodded in understanding.
“You’ve taken the L?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Jake shrugged.
“What’s your favorite station?” Keila asked, testing him. Jake couldn’t help it; he shook his head and smiled. “Pilsen,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Because of its mosaics,” he said, leaning toward her, knowing she still didn’t believe him. “They’re different from the sleek modern looks I grew up with.”
She beamed at him then, satisfied he was telling the truth. “I like Pilsen too. My dad’s side of the family is from there, but my favorite is Quincy, because of the old ad posters. The whole station makes me feel like I’ve entered a time warp.”
Jake smiled again, and for a moment, he found himself going back in time, wondering what it would’ve been like to share his teenage adventures through Chicago’s eclectic neighborhoods with someone as warm and spirited as Keila. The thought brought on an unexpected and unusual pang in his chest.
When he caught her watching him, he looked down, apprehensive she’d somehow read his thoughts, and saw a page full of numbers. Numbers were easy; they fit. He looked at his watch, brought back his all-business demeanor, and reminded her they had work in front of them. Keila immediately agreed, shuffling through her papers to take him through her next idea.
And for a while, they were safe and distant.
Until...
“What do you mean ‘rent out the instruments’?” Her head shot up.
“The rate will be dependent on the family’s income, using the allocation model you just described.”
“I meant to imply that lower income families should be able to borrow the instrument, fee-free,” she explained, her voice bordering on testy. And damn it if she didn’t look cute, giving him the evil eye.
“It’s an incredibly low fee, trust me, it’ll make a difference in how well they take care of the instrument and how much they’ll be encouraged to practice by their parents.” He sat back, arms crossed.
“It’ll also make a difference in how many children will actually benefit from the program. Trust me, some parents will simply say no because they’d rather spend the money elsewhere.” Keila’s voice went up a notch.
“People generally don’t appreciate what’s given to them for free, and I’m telling you, the rent will be low enough that they can afford it,” he calmly stated.
“Right, of course, because you know what low-income families can and can’t afford,” she said, pointedly.
Jake looked at her. “As a matter of fact, I do. I meet with them on a regular basis and I help them manage their budgets.”
Keila stood up. “Well, reality isn’t black and white, on paper, and in neat little rows of numbers, reality is that some students won’t be able to benefit from the program because of your little fee. You only know the type of person who comes to you for help. I took classes with kids whose parents chose cigarettes or a shot of tequila over their child’s needs. How about showing a little compassion for those kids?” Keila flared, and the fact that the press had described her as
feisty
came to mind.
“Throwing money at people isn’t compassion, and it doesn’t solve their problems. Helping people help themselves is the responsible thing to do,
Miss Diaz
.” Unlike Keila, Jake kept his voice even and controlled, but he couldn’t help it, he stood up, too.
“Well then,
Mr. Kelly
, let’s be responsible and shut children out of this program so that they don’t have anything to do after school and they can go get themselves into trouble instead of discovering a new talent.” Keila took a step closer as she spoke, her hands again gesturing in that lively way he’d admired just a little while ago.
“They won’t be shut out. Studies show they will be more responsive.” Jake stepped toward her.
“Wow, you really, really don’t get it!” Keila put her hands on her hips and glowered, the yellow in her fiery eyes glowing furiously, and he couldn’t help remember her eyes had also glowed when he’d pulled her closer, as they’d danced. Obviously, she was of a passionate nature.
“This is why I knew we wouldn’t work well together. You are being way too emotional.” His eyes strayed to her mouth.
“At least I
have
emotions, unlike certain
Republicans in denial
,” she shot back, her breath uneven.
Jake leaned in closer, trying to keep his temper under control, and his eyes away from her pretty pout. But the woman was getting to him, in more ways than one. She was making him uncharacteristically hot under the collar. “And you think spilling your bleeding heart all over the music program is reasonable?”
They stared at each other, both fire and ice, both breathing a little too hard, until they heard a cough. Startled, they both looked toward the door. Cate was standing there.
“I thought you’d like to know the reporter who’s going to talk to the kids is here. She’s waiting,
just outside
, with the photographer,” Cate informed Jake, her voice strained.
Jake looked at his watch, it was fifteen to ten. “They’re early,” he said. And they were supposed to wait for him across the street, at the youth center, he silently added.
“Right, but I just though you would like to know, they’re
here
.” Cate gave him a look, and shut the door.
Jake looked back at Keila, who was obviously still steaming. But beyond that, he saw she was hurt, too. He sighed and looked away for a moment, realizing that they both had good intentions at heart.
“We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said, meeting her eyes.
• • •
Keila breathed in, met his eyes, and folded her arms across her chest. A moment before, his glare had been like liquid nitrogen, freezing yet surprisingly steamy-like. Now, searching his face, she saw sincerity. “Right. I guess we have no choice but to try and find some middle ground.”
They turned away from each other, each gathering their things before heading toward the door.