At worst, it would be a pleasant night out with a friend. At best, my feelings would somehow magically detach themselves from Jimmy and turn to someone who (shock horror) just might actually want them. A win all around.
“Maybe it is time I started dating again,” I said, shoulders back and boobs out. No point in being half-hearted about it. Go big or go home and all that. “But I can organize this myself.” I turned to the bass player. “Ben, how would you feel about going to dinner with me sometime?”
“Love to,” he said with a grin.
“Great. Okay, then.” That wasn’t so hard.
“Right.” Jimmy continued, his arrogant air dimmed somewhat. He scrunched up his napkin and threw it onto the table. “Where you taking her, Ben?”
Mouth open, the bass player gave it some thought. “Ah, how about the sport’s bar? Allen’s?”
“She doesn’t like sports and don’t be cheap. This is Lena, you gotta take her somewhere good. Relaxed, but good. Mood’s important.”
Sweet baby Jesus. I sank lower in my seat. “Thank you for your concern, Jimmy. But Ben and I can discuss this later. In private.”
“It’s all right. Let me think.” Ben scratched at his short beard. “How about the Japanese place we go to sometimes?”
“No,” said Jimmy. “Not quite right.”
“Well, where would you suggest?” asked Ben, amusement lighting his eyes.
“Why don’t I book you a table at a place I know downtown?”
“Done,” said Ben. “Thanks, Jim. Lena, I’m looking forward to our date on Saturday. Pick you up at eight.”
“Right.” My smile wouldn’t quite stick.
Lizzy likewise gave me a strained look. I knew the feeling. Turkey and cranberry sauce currently sat like lead in my belly.
“You’re looking forward to it, too. Aren’t you, Lena?” Jimmy’s smile seemed to waver slightly. Though it could have been my imagination.
My own felt oddly like it’d been pasted on. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
*
“Catch.”
A desert spoon was tossed into into my lap. “Will you stop throwing things at me? It’s bad enough you feel the need to start the day that way.”
Thanksgiving itself had been quiet, just the two of us hanging out around the house. I’d phoned mom and dad in the morning and had a nice long chat with them. Then Jimmy and I had gone to an AA meeting. Or rather Jimmy had. I’d sat outside in the hallway, sipping a hot cup of coffee. He’d come out calm and in an okay mood, always a good thing.
“You’re a heavy sleeper. Got to wake you up somehow,” said Jimmy. “You did a little better with the jogging this morning, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I grumbled, somewhat mollified. Praise from him didn’t happen often. Though he’d said I was pretty the other day so perhaps it was on the rise.
“Yeah, you only hyperventilated twice. It’s an improvement.”
Or not. “Great. I appreciate the feedback.”
“Move over, you’re hogging the couch.” He threw himself onto the sofa, crowding me. A bucket of ice cream and another spoon were in his hands.
“What are we doing?”
“Think of it as more aversion therapy. Here.” He handed over the goodies. Half-baked chocolate chip cookie dough in French vanilla ice cream. Oh, hell yes. My mouth started watering.
“Yum. I don’t see me loathing you anytime soon if you keep giving me ice cream.”
He flicked on the TV. Birds flew over water and arty shots of sunlight and a long winding river appeared on screen. It was as familiar as it was unexpected.
“We’re watching The Notebook?” I asked around a mouthful of heaven. “Really?”
“Talking about my flaws the other morning didn’t go so well. Figured we’d try again.” He settled back in the seat. “Article said you should spend time with your girls, watch sappy movies and eat ice cream, bitch about me, and shit. But I know my flaws better than anyone anyway. So, here we are.”
He paused. “Would you rather I got some of the girls over to hang with you?”
“No, this is fine.” I swallowed down some more dairy-and-dough heaven. Truth was, we’d been hanging out in front of the TV of a nighttime for a while now. It was comfortable. Plus, it seemed a bit disingenuous and or pathetic to suddenly start accepting Ev’s offer of a night out now Jimmy had announced my lack of a life to all and sundry. “You said you didn’t play an instrument but I thought I heard a guitar earlier.”
”Said I didn’t play as well as the others. Not that I don’t play.”
“Do you write songs?” I asked.
“For the band? No. Davie does all the lyrics.”
“For you?”
“Yes, Lena.” His laughter was brittle. He tapped my spoon out of the way and dug in again. “I write myself love songs saying how hot I am. I’m that much of a narcissist.”
I cocked my head, studying him. Well, I never. “It upset you. My saying that.”
He scoffed. “I could give a fuck.”
For a long moment, he stared at the TV and I stared at him. Things got to Jimmy, of course they did. I just didn’t think my opinion of him was one of those things. It took a while for my mind to absorb the fact that he actually cared about something I’d said. There was intellectually knowing he had more emotions than a brick and then there was seeing them up close and personal. Until Lori’s funeral, it simply didn’t happen. Jimmy had been like Superman, bullets bounced off him so mere emotions never stood a chance. But these days …
I needed to be more careful. He wasn’t as tough as he seemed.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He gave me a weird look. “About what?”
“Saying you’re a narcissist.”
“I repeat, I could give a fuck,” he ever-so-clearly enunciated the words. “Straight out told you I was vain, didn’t I?”
Right, he had no deeper emotions, my mistake. The man was so repressed he made my teeth ache. Though when you thought about it, it made definite sense. Not only had his mother done a job on him, but he’d been hiding his drinking and drug taking since the age of fourteen or fifteen. A secretive reclusive nature must stem naturally from that sort of situation. I didn’t need to look up stuff on Google to figure that one out.
“I looked up what narcissist means,” he said, nearly reading my mind. “And I don’t think I’m in any danger of spending days mooning over myself in the mirror. I think you seeing nothing but flaws every time you look in one is more of an issue. Maybe me being a bit conceited isn’t such a bad thing.”
“I don’t see anything but flaws.”
“But you’re not happy. That makes no sense to me.”
I frowned.
The movie went on. Nothing was said.
I passed him the tub of ice cream before I ate the entire damn thing. “Though I’m not convinced you are a narcissist after all. I think I was way off about that.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“I thought about what you said, about how your looks are like a tool to you. And I think your appearance is just an area of your life where you’re used to exercising extreme control.”
The man just shook his head. “Lena, no more pop psychology, okay? It’s for your own good.”
He might have a point there. It wasn’t my strong suit. “All right then, let’s change subjects. Tell me about the songs you write.”
“Didn’t say I wrote any.”
“You didn’t say you didn’t, either.”
“I’m just the singer, Lena. That’s all.”
“You play guitar. I heard you downstairs earlier.”
“Christ, you’re annoying.” He dug around, excavating another chunk of chocolate chip goodness. “I’ve been teaching myself how to play, all right? No more. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Does David know?”
“No.” His eyes flashed. “And you’re not telling him either.”
“You have my word.”
My immediate agreement seemed to soothe him. He pressed back into the couch, exhaled hard. A muscle in his jaw moved repeatedly like he was grinding his teeth. “We’re supposed to be bitching about me or something.”