Authors: Margo Karasek
“Sure,” I heard myself say instead.
CHAPTER 17
“
W
HAT DO YOU
mean you’re going out on a date?”
Lauren stood in the door of my bedroom, blocking the exit like an offensive lineman protecting his quarterback.
“You can’t be going out! Did you forget the
brief
? Even
I
wouldn’t do something so stupid.”
I flipped open a compact, checked my makeup one last time, and dropped it back in my purse. “I appreciate your concern, but can you please move out of the doorway? Julian is waiting downstairs.”
And he was. True to his promise. No meeting up at the place this time. My mother would surely approve, not that I was planning to tell her. She wasn’t hot on Julian anyway, and with the whole brief thing, who knew what she would say? Nope. I was keeping this one on the down-low.
“The brief’s not due for another two weeks. I have more than enough time.” At least, I hoped I did. Surely writing one small brief couldn’t possibly take that long, even if it was for Professor Johnson. “And I will start working on it as soon as I come back. It’s just one date. Only a couple of hours. And we all have to eat sometime. I’ll just do my eating with a really cute guy, in a restaurant. So, really, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m on top of things.”
Lauren didn’t look convinced.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Markus materialized behind Lauren’s back. “Why is no one answering the door?”
His hair was unkempt. He wore sweats. A shadow of a beard actually marred his chin. He looked positively disheveled. For that matter, Lauren wasn’t too groomed either. What was with everyone? It was as if Professor Johnson morphed all the second years into brief-obsessed zombies.
“And why is the door unlocked in the first place?” Markus frowned. “Don’t you realize this is New York? Bad things happen to single women living alone in the city all the time. Don’t you read the papers?”
Lauren turned towards the now wide-open front entrance.
“This is a dorm,” I smiled. Leave it to Markus to provide the comic relief: him as the big, bad boogeyman. “With twenty-four hour security. No one can come in and out without showing ID, and all visitors have to be personally signed in,” I reminded him. That’s why Julian was cooling his heels downstairs while I was still chatting up my classmates. “If anyone murders us, it will be a fellow student. Getting ideas?”
“Hah, hah.” Markus rubbed his chin. “So what are you two up to?”
“This idiot,” Lauren said, “is leaving. For a date.”
“Are you crazy?” Markus stared at me, horrified. “What about the brief? Do you want to fail Con Law? We have two weeks. Fourteen days. Ten of which are full lecture days, which means the weekend is the only time you can really work on it. I came to see if you guys wanted to do the research together, to save time. Otherwise, who knows?” Markus shook his head. “Going out is definitely out of the question.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at me as if
all
of Lauren’s words had registered. Finally. “And what does Lauren mean by a
date
? With whom?” Markus demanded.
Ah jeez. All I needed.
“No one,” I said. “I’m just going out for two, three hours max. Don’t worry! You guys start the research without me. We’re on opposing sides anyway, so I wouldn’t be much help to both of you. And I’ll start my research the minute I get back. I have everything under control. You’ll see.”
W
E TOURED THE EXHIBIT
for nearly four hours.
Julian pointed out his favorite pictures. I listened to his explanations about lighting angles, backdrops and artistic composition. He admired each picture for close to fifteen minutes. I stood next to him, admiring them just as intently, although—after the tenth one—all the images began to look similar: black and white portraits of obscure artists wearing intense “artist” expressions.
I hardly ever glimpsed at my wristwatch. Well, almost.
Then Julian suggested dinner at his favorite restaurant, a brick-oven pizzeria in Williamsburg. I hesitated. He did mean Williamsburg,
Brooklyn
, which was a half-hour cab ride each way.
Don’t forget the brief
, my head screamed. But Julian was so charmingly persistent: I just
had
to try this pizza. No place outside Sicily made a better one.
So we went.
“How do you like the pizza?” Julian asked as he contemplated the large pie between us.
“Good.” I bit into a slice of pie piled high with steaming mozzarella, homemade tomato sauce and basil. The Margherita Classica. Julian had insisted on it; he was a purist when it came to toppings. “Have you been to Sicily?” I asked.
“Sure.” Julian took a sip of his house white—no beer and pizza for him, thank you—and reached for his own slice. “I love to travel. That’s why I love working in photography. It takes me all over the world.”
“Any Italian in your background?” I asked while I studied Julian’s face. With the olive complexion, I had almost been certain.
“Sure.” He smiled at me, and forked a bite of cheese.
The man used cutlery to eat pizza. How European. I picked up my own fork and knife.
“On my father’s side. But I never visited the fatherland until adulthood. Then again,” he winked, “my mother’s half-Polish, half-Hungarian.
Dzien dobry.
”
Julian had Polish in him? Now my mother
had
to approve.
A nice Polish boy, that’s what you need
, she always said.
“How’d you know I was Polish?”
Now Julian laughed.
“Are you kidding? There are no secrets in the Lamont house.” At my confused stare, he laughed harder. “First Gemma mentioned it, then Lisa filled me in on all your gory details.” He leaned over the table and whispered the “gory” like a narrator in a horror flick.
“How’d she know?” The words “Polish origin” weren’t tattooed on my forehead.
Julian sat back to sip more wine, then grinned. “Background check.” He dropped the two words like bombs in the quiet Arizona desert.
Background check! Okay, okay, maybe I should have expected one. There were plenty of weirdoes out there, and a scary percentage of them wanted to work with children. Any responsible parent would check out a potential employee.
“You know, place of birth, parents, siblings, schools, grades, jobs, the usual. Luckily,” Julian pointed out, his grin broadening, “you had no criminal record. Not even a disciplinary suspension from school,” he tsked. “Lisa was
very
disappointed. Though she did have a field day with the Polish bit. Must’ve repeated every Polish joke she’d ever heard, to anybody willing to listen.” Julian puckered his lips, all mock sympathy. “But don’t worry, I let her have it. My mother’s half-Polish, and
nobody
makes fun of my mamma.”
Lisa? “What’s Lisa got to do with
me
?” I demanded, my voice harsher than I had meant it to be.
Julian’s grin almost split his face; he was clearly enjoying our conversation.
“Oh,” he said as he toyed with his wine glass, twisting its stem to and fro, “Lisa likes to think she has everything to do with anything and anyone connected to the Lamont name. But I wouldn’t worry.” Here, his hand stopped. Wine sloshed over the brim of his glass. “The girl’s delusional.”
“How?” I shot the word out, almost jumping out of my seat. I shouldn’t care about Lisa, but I did. This was my rare chance to get more details, and Julian knew it.
Fleetingly, though, I wondered why he had mentioned Lisa in the first place.
“Lisa,” Julian said, gulping his wine as if he needed the drink to make her name more palatable, “likes to think she’s in charge. She sleeps with the boss, and she thinks she’s on her way to replacing Monique. Did you know,” Julian went on, a large frown overtaking his face, “that bitch actually tried to get me
fired
? But I’ve been dealing with the Lamonts far longer than she has, and I know how they operate.”
“How?” I whispered, like a child enraptured with a fairy tale and anxious to hear the ending.
Over and over, the words
Lisa tried to get Julian fired
rolled about in my head. I could just imagine the scenario: a steamy love session, backstabbing, lying to eliminate the competition.
Julian smirked as he forked a hefty chunk of pizza. “Stephen Lamont likes to sleep with his employees—well, all the pretty and willing ones. And, boy, was Lisa willing. She chased him like a bitch in heat from the moment he hired her as the nanny.” Julian cut another piece of pizza like a butcher carving a carcass. “Guess you can’t blame her. She has higher aspirations than babysitting.”
He chewed and helped the bite down with more wine. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up, then back down.
“And here she is, trying to make herself indispensable as his personal assistant. She runs his office. She tries to run his household. For God’s sake, she even takes his dogs’ poop to the vet—the exemplary mistress, far better than the wife.”
When Julian finished his first slice—the crust still uneaten—he reached for a second one. He paused. “How come you’re not eating?” He nudged his chin at my plate.
I glanced down my half-finished pizza. With all the talk about Lisa, I completely forgot the food. I bit into the cheese.
Julian resumed his own eating, and talking.
“But what Lisa doesn’t realize,” he said as he inhaled the second slice, again leaving the crust untouched, “is that she’s not the first and probably won’t be the last. And besides, he’ll never dump Monique.” Julian shook his head. “He didn’t marry Monique for her domestic skills or her brains. He married her for her social status, and Lisa will never top that.” Julian punctuated the point with a salute from his wine glass. “So pathetic Lisa can be the little domestic goddess all she wants, can boss the kids and even you around, and believe she actually has
power
, but in the end, when she becomes just too annoying, Stephen will boot her like he did all the others.”
Julian started in on slice three. I chewed faster, to keep up.
“And I can’t wait for that day,” Julian said, “because Lisa has been especially irritating. At least the other ones just tried to run Stephen’s business and family affairs. Lisa is actually trying to dip her grubby hands into how I manage Monique’s photography interests, trying to question me and my professional integrity. The bitch.”
He sat his knife and fork down and reached for the leftover crust with his fingers. Meanwhile, I pondered my next words. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
“And how do you manage Monique’s interests?”
Julian’s hand froze midway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I spoke slowly and carefully, “Mr. Lamont romances his assistants … so how about Monique?” I didn’t, couldn’t, breathe.
Julian gaped at me, then burst out laughing.
“Is
that
what you think?” He almost choked on his laughter.
I said nothing. The question wasn’t far-fetched. Monique was beautiful and, clearly, available in some ways. Julian was handsome. They traveled together, spent a lot of time alone. And Lisa had hinted …
“Oh God, no,” Julian hiccupped. “I’m not that stupid. That’s the fastest way to get fired. Relationships go bad and someone—the employee—is always the liability, the inconvenient reminder. Plus, believe me, Monique’s not interested.”
“What do you mean?” I parroted, disbelieving. How could she not be?
Just look at you!
“Listen,” Julian wiped his eyes. “Monique has her share of affairs, but only with the rich and famous. You know, the Tommy Lees and Tom Cruises of this world. I’m too poor and humble for her tastes. She also needs me to do the work, and I need the job. We both understand the boundaries. Oh God,” he chuckled. “Me and Monique. That’s rich. Whatever gave you the idea? Though I’m flattered you’d think so.”
“Sorry.” I shifted in my seat.
Julian tried to catch his breath. “That was a good one. But, really, enough about the Lamonts. Tell me more about that other guy you’re seeing.”
“Who?” Now I gaped, disoriented by the sudden change in topic.
“The other guy you mentioned,” Julian grinned and winked. “You know, from law school.”
“Oh.” I gulped. He had to mean Markus, my little white lie—the one I made up when I thought there was a Julian and a Monique. “Him. Err … ” I scrambled for an out. Apparently, Julian and Monique didn’t exist. Therefore, there was no need for a Markus. But no way would I fess up to the fib; I’d look desperate. “He’s sort of, like, a classmate. We see each other every day, for school,” I rushed on, lest Julian get the wrong impression. “But really, it’s nothing serious. We’re just friends. Good friends.” Yeah. Friends, with a capital F.
“Glad to hear it,” Julian nodded. “But be honest, no other guys chasing you? You’re such a pretty girl, I’m sure you drive them all crazy.”
I felt my face burn beet-red. I could just envision the hot splotches all over my cheeks.
I shook my head no. “That’s not how law school works. Everyone’s too busy. Studying.”
“Oh, come on,” Julian plastered his palm against his chest, like an actor on an Elizabethan stage. “Don’t crush my fantasies. Such intense academic pressure and no passion, not even from a distinguished professor?”
The distinguished Professor Johnson popped into my head. He was chasing me, all right.
Just not for romantic reasons.
“No,” I smiled and firmly pushed Johnson out of my head. He and his Constitutional Law wouldn’t spoil this date. “No one.”
“Great,” Julian smiled back. “Now finish up.” He glanced at my plate. “I’d love to take you for a stroll in Central Park. What do you think? The evening’s nice, and there’s nothing like bonding over nature. You got the time?”
B
Y THE TIME
I
RETURNED TO THE DORM
, it was past midnight.
The stroll through the park, then the stop at a café for late-night desserts and finally the walk back to the Village—and reality—had taken far longer than I anticipated.