“Thursday’s perfect,” I say, without consulting my calendar.
“Bolo at one?” he says. Bolo is a popular spot with people from work and the publishing scene generally. He’d never choose Bolo if his intentions were at all impure.
“That works for me,” I say, all business.
On Thursday, I wear my most flattering pair of jeans and green seersucker jacket to work. I look casual, but stylish. Then I spend about ten minutes touching up my makeup at my desk before leaving for lunch. I stand by my claim that I have no interest in Richard, but figure that it never hurts in life to look nice, particularly when you’re going to be in the company of a hot man.
Richard e-mailed me earlier to tell me he was coming from a dentist appointment and would meet me at the restaurant. I walk briskly the few blocks to Bolo, but still arrive five minutes late. I spot Richard right away at a corner table wearing a sport coat and tie. A glass of red wine and a bowl of olives sit on the table before him. He is talking on his cell phone, looking somewhat agitated as he glances down at a small notepad, the old-school kind reporters carry. He has an air of importance. Then again, maybe I just know that he is important.
When he looks up and sees me, his face brightens and he waves me over. I give him a signal, as if to say, “Finish your call. I’ll wait here.” He shakes his head, says good-bye quickly, and snaps his phone shut, sliding it into his jacket pocket along with the pad. As I approach him, he gives me the half-stand and says, “Hello, Claudia.”
“Hi, Richard,” I say as I inhale his aftershave, something I first noticed on him during a shared elevator ride years ago. I love aftershave or cologne on a man. Ben never wore it. Even his deodorant was scent-free. It feels good when I stumble upon something not to miss about Ben. Unfortunately, I haven’t racked up many of those so far. “Any cavities?”
“Not a one,” he says.
“You’re a flosser?” I say.
“Nope,” he says, looking sheepish. “Just good genes, I guess.”
Our waiter, a young, blond kid with so much exuberance that I peg him as a Broadway performer, stops by, introduces himself as Tad, and asks what I’d like to drink. I don’t usually have wine at lunch during the week, but because Richard is drinking, I order a glass of chardonnay.
“Good. I don’t like to drink alone,” Richard says after Tad departs. “Unless I’m alone, that is.”
I laugh.
He laughs.
Then, as if to offset our beverage selection, Richard skips further small talk and immediately launches into business. Our summer list generally. A new author I just signed on board. A recent, mixed review of the Skvarla memoir in the Times . (Not that publicity ever cares too much about the content. Even bad publicity is good publicity.) “And the big news is,” Richard says, as if signaling the reason for our lunch, “I’m this close to getting Amy Dickerson on The Today Show .” His index finger and thumb are a millimeter apart.
“You’re kidding me?” I say, even though I had already heard this news from Michael. It is huge deal for any book, but particularly a novel. Still, it’s usually not the sort of thing that necessitates a one-on-one lunch with the head of publicity.
Richard nods. “Apparently Katie really digs the book,” he says.
I smile at his use of the word digs . Richard frequently uses jargon from the seventies. Most people sound washed-up or silly when they drop slang from a prior generation, but with Richard, it’s endearing. I guess if you’re handsome and successful enough, you can pull off just about anything.
I resist the urge to say, “Groovy,” and instead cross my fingers in the air.
Tad returns with my glass of chardonnay and two menus. He asks if we’d like to hear the specials.
“Sure,” we say in unison, and then listen as Tad rattles off the longest and most detailed shrimp bisque description in the history of the world. Ben always hated food adjectivesparticularly the words moist and chewy . Cookie commercials presented a problem for him. I tell myself, No more thinking about Ben ! I peruse the menu, trying to find something that’s not too messy to eat. I decide on the seared-tuna salad. Richard goes with the pressed burger. I like the burger-wine combo.
“So read anything good lately?” Richard asks.
“You mean generallyor are you talking manuscripts?” I ask.
“Either,” he says.
I reel off a few titles in the first category and a couple of projects in the second.