“Ha,” he said.
But she wasn’t trying to be funny. “Why aren’t you?”
“Why aren’t I what?”
“Out with Lauren right now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s your type, isn’t she? More than I am?”
His smile was stiffening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know.” She closed the lid on the box, shoved it across the table. “She’s pretty, dresses nicely, likes things like Prada shoes, probably knows how to tie a scarf—I mean, definitely knows how to tie a scarf, I’ve seen her—”
“Nothing wrong with any of that,” Russell said. “Nothing wrong with Lauren, either.” He drained the last of his martini. “And, much as I don’t like the idea that I have a type, maybe you’re right that I did once.” He put the glass down with a sigh. “I’m getting old, I guess. My type is changing.” He gave her a sideways look that was a little coy. “I think you might be my type now. If I haven’t made that clear.”
“Then why do you keep trying to turn me into Lauren?”
He recoiled. “I’m not. Why would you even say that?”
“The clothes,” she said. “And the shoes. And this scarf. You’re trying to make me more like her—change me into something I’m not.”
“I’ve never tried to change you,” he said. “Your clothes, maybe, but not you.”
“I’m serious.”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s fun, finding stuff for you to wear. That’s all.”
“It changed how you felt about me. I put on the clothing and suddenly you—” She stopped and bit her lip, then picked up her glass and took a sip to hide her embarrassment, her unfinished sentence.
When she stole another very quick glance at him, Russell was drumming his fingers on the table, his face drawn tight. “How superficial do you think I am?” he said.
“I never said I thought you were—”
“That dress you put on that night?” he said, in a low, rapid voice. “I first spotted it on a hanger, and, God, that hanger looked hot. So when you refused to come home with me that night, you know what I did? Found another hanger with one of those dresses, took it home, and made passionate love to it all night long.”
“Shut up,” she said. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I just think you’re the kind of person who cares more about what people wear than about who they are.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I sure am one shallow guy, aren’t I? And your theory explains my interest in
you
how? You’re not exactly Coco Chanel.”
“I don’t know,” she said soberly. “I can’t figure it out. I mean, you clearly preferred Lauren to me at the beginning—”
“I
noticed
Lauren more than you at the beginning,” he said. “Who wouldn’t? She walks into a room with this ‘Hey, everybody, look at me!’ kind of attitude. So everyone looks. Meanwhile,
you
skulk around, practically begging people
not
to look at you. You make people work hard just to realize you’re even there.”
“Still, it was obvious you liked her—”
“Sure,” he said irritably, cutting her off again. “Everyone likes Lauren—she’s
likable
. And very easy to joke around with. But it took me like five minutes to realize she’s a flake. You know that. I like Lauren, she’s fun. But she’s not someone you have a really meaningful or deep conversation with. I mean, come on—the girl can’t even remember her own home address.”
Ava always defended Lauren if someone outside the family attacked her. “It’s not her fault—she hasn’t lived there for a while.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Russell said. “If I liked Lauren that way, I promise you she’d be sitting across from me tonight.” He pulled at the collar of his shirt like it was choking him. “I’m not saying I’m irresistible, but I suspect a pair of Prada shoes would have gone a lot further with her than they did with you.”
“Probably,” she said. “She’s the stylish one.”
“And you assume that makes her more appealing to me? I think
you’re
the one who’s obsessed with what people wear, not me.” The waitress approached them, but he gave her one savage look and she backed away. He leaned forward. “I’ve had a bad week, Ava. My mother was here crying every day and accusing me of neglecting her and my bosses were on my back, threatening to fire me, and I kept thinking, ‘When I come up for air, I’ll see Ava and that will make me feel better.’ Because I really like being with you. More than I’ve liked being with anyone for a long time. But you know what?” He sat back. “You’re not making me feel better. I gave you presents and you resented me for it. For no reason at all, you assumed my generosity was some kind of implied criticism and took offense.” He held out his hands. “Look, maybe I was a little oblivious, but I only ever gave you stuff because I wanted to make you like me. To say my plan backfired is what you might call an understatement.” He pushed his chair back. “I was so stupidly happy when I thought you’d called me, Ava. In spite of everything else that’s lousy in my life right now, a girl I liked called me and wanted to have dinner and suddenly life was good again. But you
didn’t
call me and you
didn’t
want to have dinner with me tonight. It was all your sister’s idea of a joke. You didn’t want dinner, you didn’t want shoes, you didn’t want me.” He stood up. “You’ll be happier eating without me.” He pulled out his wallet and threw down a twenty. “That’s for my drink. Good night, Ava. Tell Lauren she should try minding her own business. If she’s capable of it.”
He walked away from the table. Ava stared after him a moment, blinking, her mind still twisting around what he had said. He was angry at
her.
How was that possible? Wasn’t she the one who had been insulted and misused?
Sudden clarity hit her hard, leaving horror in its wake.
He was right. Russell was right.
Fear had made her stupid and insensitive. Fear of finding herself second to Lauren had made her reject Russell before he could reject her. Fear of being judged and found wanting had made her pass unfair and prejudiced judgment on
him
. Fear of being hurt had made her defensive and careful and closed off—and so she had hurt someone whose only crime was to pursue her.
Russell had reached his hand out to her and she had slapped him across the face in return.
She could have kicked herself—only she didn’t have time. Russell was walking across the restaurant, and if he reached the door, he would leave. And if he left, she wouldn’t be able to tell him she was sorry and try at least to make him see that she was stupid and blind but not cruel. Not deliberately cruel, anyway.
She pulled the scarf out of the box as she rose to her feet and ran after him. She stumbled briefly and wanted to curse her shoes because their heels were too high—but then she remembered that the shoes were also pretty and expensive and a perfectly lovely gift for a man to give a woman he liked, and if she slipped in them, it was because of her own clumsiness and not some fault of theirs.
She called Russell’s name and he turned—as did several customers at nearby tables and the hostess who had seated her and a waiter who was trying to mix a Caesar salad on a rolling cart and the bartender who was arranging filled glasses on a round tray at the bar near the entrance.
“Russell, wait,” she said, and Russell came back toward her with a tight
What now?
expression on his face. Ava clumsily scrunched up the scarf and pulled it around her neck, then tied it directly under her chin the only way she knew how, like she was tying a shoe, pulling the ends apart from each other way too hard and half strangling herself. “How’s that?” she said, coming up close to him and throwing back her neck so he could see.
“It looks awful,” he said, but there was amusement and anger and hope and confusion in just those three words.
“I know,” she said, close to tears of sheer frustration because she didn’t know how to tell him everything she needed to. “I can be an idiot about things like this.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said with a tentative smile. She managed a somewhat more tremulous one in return. He reached toward her. “May I?” She nodded dumbly and he deftly untied the scarf and slid it from around her neck. He gave it a quick hard shake so it was a square again. “This is why you need me to help you.” He didn’t fold the scarf or scrunch it like she had, just caught it around her neck, then neatly tied it in a loose and feminine knot off to one side, letting the ends fall onto her left shoulder. He shifted back to study the effect.
“How does it look?” she said in a voice that wasn’t much more than a whisper. She had a dim sense of other people watching but didn’t care.
“Old and French,” Russell said.
“I’ll wear it if you like it,” Ava whispered. “I trust your judgment more than mine.”
“Is that an apology?” he said, and she nodded, unable to say much more.
He put a hand on each of her shoulders. She reached up and touched his right hand with hers. And then he bent forward and kissed her on the lips, in front of all those people and the hostess, and the waiter making his Caesar salad and the bartender whose tray was completely filled now and who was just watching them.
And Ava let him.
No, she did more than let him: she kissed him right back and it was lovely.
A moment later, though, awareness returned, and embarrassment of course, and she ducked her head, blushing. She avoided looking at anyone around them, as if by ignoring them she could ensure her own invisibility. She caught Russell’s arm and pulled him toward the back of the restaurant where their table was waiting for them, their napkins neatly shaken out and refolded and their water glasses refilled.
S
he was no longer very hungry and neither, apparently, was Russell. They both ordered lightly and picked at their food, and he asked for the check as soon as their entrees had been bused. His cell phone rang as they waited for the waitress to bring back the credit card slip, and he took it out and peered at the number. “Corinne,” he said with a grimace, pressing a button to ignore the call. He put the phone back in his pocket.
“She still calls you?” It occurred to Ava that she would happily pull out all of Corinne’s highlighted hair. It wasn’t the kind of thought she normally had. “I thought you’d broken up.”
“It’s hard to break up with someone when you were never a couple to begin with,” Russell said. “At least, I didn’t think we were. She seems to have a different opinion of the matter.”
“What was the appeal?” Ava asked. “I mean, besides the way she looked?”
“There was a besides?” he said with a grin.
“Watch it.” She fingered the scarf around her neck. It felt foreign there, strange and out of place—but not unpleasant. Silky.
“She made me feel like I was still in the game,” he said. “That seemed important at the time. She impressed my friends.”
“People like Cole.”
He nodded. “Yeah. The old college buddies envied me. Especially the ones who were married.”
“Because she was so pretty?”
“Well, it wasn’t because she was so brilliant.” He reconsidered. “Although the fact that she wasn’t a rocket scientist actually had its charms. I always felt smart around her.” He waved his finger at Ava. “Whereas with you, Nickerson, I’m always being outargued.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a little rough on you, I know.”
“Yeah, you have.” He touched the back of her hand lightly. “But I kind of like it. You keep me on my toes.”
“I still think I’ll try being nicer to you.”
“I like that idea,” he said.
The waitress came back with Russell’s charge card. While he signed the receipt, Ava dug out her own cell phone.
“Just remembered I have a call to make,” she said and dialed Lauren’s number. “Hey,” she said all in a rush, when Lauren answered. “Listen, I am
so
sorry about missing the family dinner tonight. I tried but couldn’t get out of work and totally forgot to call until now. Will you tell everyone I’m sorry? I’ll see you later. Bye!” She hung up before Lauren could even say anything.
“That was evil,” Russell said.
“How much do you want to bet she’s going to call you in about five seconds?”
Russell’s phone rang on cue. “What do you want me to tell her?” he said, holding it unopened in his hand. “Should I say that you and I had a date and you stood me up and I’m never speaking to you again? Or should I let her in on the joke?”
“Just don’t answer it. Let her suffer a little while longer. She deserves it.”
“Yeah,” Russell said. “Look what she’s done to us. The horribleness of her.”
“She shouldn’t have lied to us,” Ava said primly.
“Yeah, but if she hadn’t—”
“We wouldn’t be here right now. I know.” She shrugged. “But she pretended to be me on the phone. I can’t let her get away with that.”
“She’s kind of brilliant,” Russell said. “When you think about it. She maneuvered this whole thing, knowing it was best for both of us. She was one step ahead of us the whole way.”
“For God’s sake, don’t tell her that. Her head is swollen enough as it is. If she decides she’s good at running my life for me, I’m in deep trouble.”
“It’s nice to sit here talking about Lauren,” Russell said, leaning forward with sudden impatience, “but—”
“Let’s go,” Ava said immediately, and they both rose to their feet without another word.
Since they had come in separate cars, Ava had to follow Russell to his house in Larchmont Village. It wasn’t easy keeping up with him. She lost him at a couple of lights—he had a bad habit of slipping through just as the yellow turned to red—but at least he had the grace to pull to the side of the road and wait until she could catch up with him again.
“You drive too fast,” she said when they met up in front of his house, a small, neat ranch that wasn’t too big for its lot, unlike most of the houses on his block. Russell had parked in the garage and walked down to meet her on the street.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was in a hurry to get you back here.” He took her by the hand and led her up toward the open garage. “Didn’t want to give you enough time to change your mind again.”
She stopped. “There’s no danger of that,” she said and pulled at the sleeve of his jacket for emphasis. “I promise.”