I smiled then, waiting a beat. “I hope you like it. It’s for you.”
Her lovely heart-shaped face flushed with color as I handed the gift to her. “I couldn’t.”
“You can. I insist. I’m sure it will look wonderful on you.” I checked my watch. “I have to run. Meeting at work. It’s been nice talking to you, Gretchen.”
I turned to leave, wondering if my hook had set. I’d reached the door of the retail boutique and was about to enter the mall when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Paul, wait. Can I see you again?” Gretchen asked. Her flush deepened. “I really enjoyed talking to you, too.”
I pulled a business card out of my wallet, a new card, with my cell phone a substitute for where my work number had been. But for that minor distinction it was an exact copy of my actual Thompson Payne card, complete with my title, Director of Account Services. Women love Mad Men. “Call me. I’ve got to run.”
It’s hard to walk away when the currents of attraction are so strong, but that’s what I did that afternoon, fortunately. It makes the eventual first kiss that much more intense, trust me. I know about these things. As I left the store I saw Doris Boone standing next to a potted plant in the mall. She was staring at me like I’d committed a crime. “It isn’t illegal to shop during the day in a mall, is it, Doris?” I felt like saying. Instead I gave her a weak wave and hurried out to the parking lot. Doris saw nothing, I told myself then. I was only doing research.
Gretchen smells of strong perfume whenever she comes home from working at I See London. She says French perfume is pumped through the air vents, a colorless scented gas. The smell is awful and makes me sneeze, like trying to sit on my outdoor porch in Lakeside. She tries to shower before we meet, before I arrive at her door, but sometimes she hasn’t had time and I can never wait. I don’t have a choice. Her skin is flawless, her lips full and pink. Just thinking about her now I feel myself stirring.
But I need to focus on my wife. Just tonight, moments earlier, Mia told a stranger that I don’t have a high emotional intelligence, which is ridiculous, and now she’s lying to me about my children.
“What’s the name of the movie, Mia?” I ask. We’re at another stoplight. The red glow fills the car as I turn to face her. She looks frightened, or maybe it’s just the crimson glow.
“Super Dog,” she says. “It’s new. The boys are super excited. We can call them tomorrow morning. They’ll be in bed before our dinner is finished, no doubt.”
“Let’s call them now. Maybe the movie hasn’t started yet.”
If I expected an argument, I’d have been mistaken. “Sure,” she says. “Call from your phone so it will go over Bluetooth. We can both talk that way.”
I pull out my phone and push Claudia’s number. The light turns green as the phone continues to ring and then goes to her voice mail. “This is Claudia. Leave a message.” Her voice-mail recording sounds as devoid of energy as the actual person. Definitely a druggie.
“Claudia, Paul Strom, and Mia, calling to say goodnight to the boys. If you aren’t at the movies, please give us a call back. Hope all is well. Thanks,” I say into the air. I never did put the money on the credit card. She must be paying for the popcorn and pizza out of her own account. Fortunately, Mia already took care of the tickets. If that is where they are, I remind myself. But really, where else would they be? My wife doesn’t lie to me. I relax my shoulders and put a smile on my face.
“Oh, well, I guess you were right,” I say. I glance in her direction.
Mia nods next to me. I turn on the blinker and we ease into the parking lot of the restaurant. We are here.
“This looks nice, Paul,” she says as we stop in front of the valet. Not many restaurants at the lake have valet parking. I’m glad she is impressed, as am I. The young man opens Mia’s door and I watch his face as he checks her out. Not bad, his face registers.
“Welcome to Ciao Bella,” says a second boy who is opening my door.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the ticket from him and hurrying to my wife’s side. I slide my arm around Mia’s waist and look down at my wife, feel her in my grip. She’s so sweet and kind. Why does my mind imagine her doing anything devious? We walk up the steps of the restaurant and into a sanctuary of dim lighting, attentive service and dark paneling. I’m instantly pleased with my selection, my fine taste.
“This is lovely, Paul,” Mia says. A hostess escorts us to the promised window table, a corner table with views of the lake. I need to slip this young lady some money. All I have left in my wallet is a ten-dollar bill. I hope that suffices. As I hand it to her, she nods and smiles. Suddenly, I wonder if my wife has brought her credit card. I watch as she hangs her purse on the back of her chair, and I feel relieved.
“Welcome,” says a man who appears to be about my age and also appears to be our waiter. He has white hair and frosty blue eyes and a complexion almost as pale as the white linen tablecloth. He wears a black tuxedo jacket, black pants. Quite formal. I like it. “I understand this is a special evening. May I ask: anniversary, birthday?”
“No, just the best day ever,” I say. Mia laughs with me. I like that sound.
“Well, that calls for some champagne, I’d say,” the waiter says.
I look at Mia. It is polite to allow your date to answer.
“Sure, that sounds good,” she says. “Is that okay with you, Paul, or would you like a cocktail?”
My wife also is so polite, so lovely.
“I’d love to drink some champagne with you, honey,” I say.
“Wonderful,” the waiter says and scurries away.
We both stare out the window. I notice a lighthouse perched on the rocks at the end of my line of sight, its bright spotlight warning boaters of the dangers there. As the spotlight turns, it leaves a darker blackness in its wake.
8:00 p.m.
13
“So how was your afternoon, Mia?” I ask. I feel as if I haven’t really talked to my wife since our drive up. It is time to be polite and friendly, to enjoy a lovely dinner sitting at our special lakefront table.
“Wonderful, really,” she says. The waiter appears, goes through the usual champagne ritual of popping and all. Once our glasses are finally evenly filled, he departs. Mia raises her glass. “Cheers.”
“Yes, cheers, honey,” I say. “And, listen. I’m sorry about lunch today. I feel like it left us unsettled. The notion of you working for John is causing so much stress between us. Let’s get past that, okay?”
“Sure.” Mia smiles, looks around the room at our fellow diners. “Pretty swanky place for up here. I’m glad I dressed up.”
“You look gorgeous, almost as young as the first time I saw you in the conference room of Thompson Payne.”
“Must be the lighting. Good old Thompson Payne. I can’t even believe you brought that place up.” Mia is still smiling but her eyes aren’t.