7
Can I just tell you you clean up well?” Damien looked her up and down. She wore a smart navy-blue dress with towering heels. Truly she was absolutely gorgeous and elegant and he was very glad he was with her that evening.
“As many times as you like.”
Her smile was saucy. She was saucy. He liked it. Liked her.
“I’ve got a cab ordered for us downstairs. We have some time first. Would you like a drink?”
“That’s nice of you. Yes. I’d love one. Here or . . . ?”
They were set to head off to some swank restaurant that was ridiculously hard to get a table at. Adrian had buttered some people up and scored a reservation for two and she’d chosen him as her plus one.
“They have a bar at the restaurant. I looked it up. Not that I needed the bar. I mean I wanted to see what I was getting into.” God, he was f*cking this up. She made him nervous. Not because she was judgy or snooty. But he wanted her to like him. Wanted to be sure he could handle himself at this place. He liked to know things. Being prepared was his measure of control.
Her laugh calmed him a little. “It’s fine. Yes, let’s go there. I like to check out bar food too. I haven’t eaten all day just to be ready.”
She took his arm. “Also, you really do look amazing in a suit. It works on you.”
He’d dressed up for her and he was glad he had.
“Come then, lady. Let’s get our grub on.”
When they arrived at the restaurant, her eyes glittered. He squeezed her to his side, loving that she was so happy and that he could share that with her. In the bar, she ordered a very dry vodka martini with an olive and a few items from the menu.
Plenty of people recognized him, but none approached, which he was thankful for. Maybe they forgot when they got a load of Mary’s legs in those damned heels. He knew he’d nearly stumbled twice because he’d been staring as they walked.
By the time their reservation came up, he was ready to have her to himself in a more intimate situation. Bars were fun and all, but at their table it was intimate. He sat close enough to speak quietly with her, close enough that he could smell her perfume.
She chatted with the server, asking a million questions. So much so that the chef-owner came out and her eyes widened, though she managed to keep it together. He asked about her catering, her food, and invited her to come back again the next time she was in the city.
“If you’ll permit me, I have a menu in mind.”
Jean Louis Valpar was her idol. And he stood right there, gray-haired, French and impeccable. Oh and charming. And he had a menu planned? As if she’d say no?
“We would be most appreciative. I’ve been an admirer of your food for some time. I can’t wait to taste what you’ve got in store for us.”
He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “It will be my pleasure.”
He spoke to the server in rapid-fire French and the server disappeared to procure whatever he’d told her to.
“She’ll be back momentarily.” Jean Louis bowed. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mary and Damien.”
Once he’d gone, Mary turned to Damien. “Oh. My. God.”
Damien smiled, taking her hand. “I sensed you might admire him a little.”
“He’s like . . . my idol. The first real cookbook I ever had was Jean Louis’s Kitchen. When people say they wanted to go to Disneyworld or whatever, I always said I wanted to come here.”
“That’s awesome.”
The server returned with several appetizers, and the sommelier came by with wine.
“Chef Valpar suggests these wines to go with each course.”
She looked over the list and handed it Damien’s way.
“That’s a lot of courses.”
Mary grinned at him. “I know. I’m so glad I have an empty stomach. Though the martini has hit.”
Wine was poured and she dug in, sharing with Damien.
“I wish you were with me every time I went out to eat. I’d never have chosen any of this stuff. And yet, each forkful you create is perfect.”
She blushed. “Thank you.”
“So what ignited this love of food?”
“I don’t know. I just have always loved it. My grandmother took me to a swanky restaurant in Portland for my eighth birthday. It doesn’t exist anymore. But it was old-school French. I was astounded by all the silverware, by the menu, which had been in French as well. My grandmother told me, after I had made a very safe choice, that I’d never ever look back at my life when I was her age and say I wished I’d made safe menu choices. She said life was about taking chances and trying new things. So I did. And I never really stopped.”
“I like that story. When I was growing up— Oh my god, what is that?”
“Abalone.”
“Wow. Love it.” He finished chewing and went in for a few more bites. She loved to watch people eat. Especially Damien. He had started off wary but had taken up the challenge.
He sipped his wine. “This is also awesome. Anyway, we rarely went out to dinner when I was growing up. We didn’t often have much extra money. My mom’s a great cook, but we’re a meat-and-potatoes family. I never really went to fancy places, not until we hit it big and label people started to take us to lunch.”
“I love meat and potatoes. My favorite meal of my mom’s is meatloaf. Also, small hole-in-the-wall places can really be great finds. Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten has been from some three-table place in a strip mall.”
Another course arrived and she had to clasp her hands on her lap to keep from rubbing them together with glee.
“You’re really happy right now, aren’t you?”
“I am. This is . . . it’s special. I’m blown away. Taste this.” She held her fork out and he leaned in to take a bite. “I hope you’re not weirded out that I like to share.” She really did hope not, because she wanted to grab some of what was on his plate.
“Hell no. I like it.” He indicated his plate and she hoped she didn’t look like a hungry animal when she forked up some of his food.
It was hours later when they walked outside. He hailed a cab and she leaned into his side, despite the August heat.
“It’s a beautiful thing to watch you around food.”
She tipped her head back. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. You enjoy it like nothing I’ve ever seen. You get this light in your eyes. Pure joy. Sensual. Really, really hot. Thanks for sharing this with me.”
“Thank you for coming with me. And for not complaining when I ate off your plate.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Anytime.”
Two women approached. “Oh my god, you’re Damien Hurley!” They giggled and he smiled at them.
“I am. How are you two ladies this fine evening?”
“You’re so hot. Would you sign an autograph?” She started digging in her purse, unsteady on her feet.
“So are you staying in town? We have tickets to see you tomorrow night. Can we come backstage? We’d totally make it worth your while, if you know what I mean.”
He chuckled.
They ignored Mary totally. One of them even sort of edged in front of her. She stepped back, shocked at the behavior.
He looked back to her. “Hey, don’t go anywhere.”
Damien saw the look on her face, knew she was pissed. He felt bad—it had been a pretty f*cking stellar night up until that point.
A cab rolled up and the doorman opened the door. She shot him a look over her shoulder and got in. “Looks like you’re busy. I can go back on my own if you’d like.”
“Gotta run. Have a good night, ladies, and enjoy the show.” He hurried, disentangling himself from their grabbing hands and slid into the cab.
Mary stared straight ahead as they pulled away from the curb.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” There was enough ice in her voice to make him shiver.
“Look, it happens. What am I supposed to do? Be rude?”
“Um, in case it’s escaped your notice, you were rude. To me. I don’t give one tiny drop of f*ck about two drunken skanks offering you a three-way for a backstage pass. You gotta do what you gotta do, but don’t cry to me about being rude when you were to me.”
The cabbie met his eyes in the rearview for a moment, sharing one of those sympathetic guy glances.
Damien had considered her pretty easygoing, but Mary Whaley had a temper on her. He should have guessed given the way she was in bed, but wow, she was pissed and he was probably going to hell because it made him hot for her to see it.
He took a deep breath. “You’re right. It happens so often I guess I just sort of get immune to how it affects everyone around me. Don’t let this ruin what has been one of the best nights of the entire year. Please?”
He took her hand and she gave him one slowly raised brow.
“How do you do that? I can manage a single brow raise, but the slow draw up, I can’t do it.” He managed to give her his most charming smile.
“It was a lovely evening. Until that. Look, I get it. We aren’t married or anything, but we were on a date. I don’t own you. I just expect to not have some floozy push me out of the way while she offers up her sexual services.”
He nodded. “You’re totally right. Can I tell you that the overwhelming majority of my fans are awesome and respectful? And I was raised right, I’ll have you know. We’re on a date and you deserve respect.”
“Hm.”
He knew she’d forgiven him, thank goodness. But the way she’d so casually tossed out that they were just on a date and nothing more rattled around at the back of his mind. She was so much more than just some woman he had fun with.
“How about we go up on the roof and look at the stars? There’s a pretty garden and places to lounge around.”
She finally smiled. “All right then.”
* * *
On the roof it was quieter, but the sounds of the city still rose to greet them. The air was warm, the sky was clear and even the lights from all around them couldn’t totally kill the stars high above.
He got them both drinks and steered her to a padded chaise he’d sighted as they got outside. It was in a quiet little corner so he could have her all to himself.
She sat, taking her shoes off and tucking her legs up under her body.
“What is this again?” he asked her. She’d been the one to tell him what to order back at the bar.
“They call it the Skyline. When I make them I just call them ginger lime fizzes. It’s fizzy water with ginger and lime juice. I steep my ginger in the fizzy water in a little muslin bag. Don’t know how they do it here. But it’s quite tasty.”
He clinked his glass to hers and they settled back.
“I’m so full. Like to-the-brim, I-need-to-unbutton-my-jeans-and-take-a-nap full.”
He laughed. “Exactly. Or as my dad calls it, Thanksgiving full.” He put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned in to his body.
“Are you ready for tomorrow’s show?”
“I am. This is a special venue for us. We played here the first time our CD hit Billboard at number one. The crowds are always good to us, always rambunctious and noisy. It feeds your energy.”
“Is it as amazing as it seems to have them sing the words to the song? I go to see Pearl Jam at least twice every tour and from the audience perspective, it gives me chills to be singing along and have Ed get quiet and let the crowd finish the words.”
“I don’t even know if I could do justice to what it’s like. You’re flattered that they like you enough to pay to come to a show. They gotta deal with traffic and parking and then everything costs so much. But they come. They spend their hard-earned money and time and they come to the show. And then they sing along. It’s . . . I don’t even know. Astonishing. Humbling. Our fans kick ass. They’ve been so loyal from day one. We meet our fan club folks in every city when we roll through and love ’em.”
He liked that her questions showed how much she really thought about things. She was insightful as well as beautiful.
“It’s a slog sometimes. The road I mean. You’re in a different hotel every night, or the bus. And the toilet is always breaking down and you don’t have much privacy. You get sick of everyone. The food is utter shit most of the time. So you roll into the next town and you set up and then you walk out on that stage and it all comes back to me. When I sit behind my kit and I look out over that audience and they’re cheering and they’ve made signs and they throw stuff on stage and yell out their favorites and yeah, sing along and it’s the most powerful reminder of just how lucky I am. The exhaustion fades and the joy of making music with my brothers comes back and I remember I’m so fortunate to have this life.”
“That’s lovely. I’m so glad you have that. I can’t imagine the pressure you must be under sometimes. I know some of it through Gillian about Adrian and this chance he took making this double album and all that. But it’s got to be so much more than what she can tell me. I admire that you do what you do.”
“Thank you. Thank you for coming out here. And for dinner and for being you. I’m really glad to be here with you right now.” In fact, he couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be than right there with her at his side as they stared up at the stars.
He was, indeed, a really lucky man.