31 #Brave

Jon punched the bell and waited with a pleasant sense of anticipation.  It had been a good day on the Red Bank side of the river, and he was looking forward to finishing it up as a great night on the Rumson side.  Not only did he have high hopes for another sweaty romp in the color cauldron, but Jon found himself energized by the prospect of another opportunity to just talk to her. 

 

He’d missed out on it earlier by choosing to send his dinner RSVP via text, but the woman inside the beige house fascinated him a bit more with every conversation.  Her story continued to build as the layers of blandness peeled away like used band-aids and, and he was itching for the next chapter.

 

“Hello.”

 

Speaking of blandness…

 

At least Dr. Cookie looked more like herself tonight, he thought, choosing to be optimistic.  Her knee-length beige dress tied at the waist and was almost sleeveless, since the inch of fabric covering the ball of her shoulder couldn’t be considered an actual sleeve.  Hair was neatly clipped behind her neck, and she had natural color hiding under that makeup.

 

Today had been visibly better to her than yesterday.

 

“Hey,” he greeted casually, stepping inside.  “How are you?”

 

The kiss he dusted against her cheek was met with a gentle hum of appreciation. “Not drunk, if that’s the question.”

 

“It wasn’t,” Jon snickered.  “But if you’d let me bring wine like I wanted, we could fix that.”

 

“No need.  I have plenty. You can pour while I sear the scallops.” 

 

Her casually waved hand invited him to follow her to a kitchen that was disturbingly neat to have dinner in progress.  The dark-veined sand marble sparkled, cleanly reflecting daylight that was just starting to wane.  There were no scattered utensils and ingredients.  There were only a couple of items out, and they were placed precisely, like a cooking show. 

 

Her tidiness was equally unnerving and impressive. 

 

He slanted an eye at the bottle standing beside a boiling pot of water.  “White wine?”

 

“It’s for the pasta,” she explained.  “There’s a bottle of pinot grigio chilling in the fridge if you’d like to do the honors.”

 

“Pinot grigio?  I thought you said there would be Hampton Water.”  The brand on the label didn’t mean that much, but he liked the familiarity that came with teasing her.

 

“I thought we’d go old school today.”

 

Hitching a curious eyebrow, he turned in the direction she nodded.  A tall, double-door refrigerator blended almost seamlessly into the surrounding cream cabinetry.  He crossed to it and gave the handle a tug, revealing a familiar label inside.  It was the same pinot grigio brand that had been his go-to for years.  He may have found himself married to Hampton Water, but this wine was still a faithful mistress.

 

“I won’t ask how you know.”

 

She lifted her voice over the hiss of shellfish hitting the pan, so that he could clearly identify her amusement when saying, “I’d tell you, but since dinner is almost ready, I’d rather you not run off like a scared rabbit.”

 

Garlic and wine sizzled fragrantly when they joined the scallops, and Jon picked up the corkscrew she’d preemptively placed next to a pair of stemless glasses. 

 

“You probably know what size shoes I wear.”

 

“Eleven – and I knew that before they ended up on my boudoir floor.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, setting aside the popped cork to pour.  “Please tell me there’s pasta in that boiling pot and not a rabbit.  And that you don’t have plans to break my legs and chain me to a bed until I write you the perfect love song.”

 

She cut a pretty smile over one shoulder that didn’t interrupt her cooking.  “Although I don’t mind Michael Douglas, Fatal Attraction wasn’t a movie I’d choose to incorporate into my reality.  And Misery was just gruesome.  I have hopes of handcuffing you to my bed, but I promise you’ll enjoy the outcome as much as I will.”

 

“Handcuffs?” he choked while wiping his mouth of the wine he’d nearly spit out.

 

Teddi’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she turned back to the stovetop with an affirming, “Mm-hmm."

 

“You’ve really got a thing about control, don’t you?”

 

“Perhaps, but don’t expect me to apologize or you’ll be sorely disappointed.  There are a great many things in life I will apologize for, but my sexual preferences aren’t among them.”

 

She turned from the stove with the pasta pot in hand.  As it drained into the sink, defiant blue eyes glimmered through the steam that rosied her cheeks.  The Gypsy was ready to defend her ground, and it was a better look on her than the weariness of last night. 

 

“And I’m not giving any when I say no handcuffs,” he returned with a shrug.  “You’re not the only one who has a thing about control.”

 

That earned him a delicate harrumph.  “Well, I still have dreams of making you beg.  You can’t take those away from me.”

 

He chuckled as the food was artfully plated. There was no fucking way he was ever going to beg, but it didn’t hurt anything to let her believe otherwise.  “Nobody can take away your dreams, baby.”

 

“Take the wine to the table, you patronizing man.”

 

“Some people call that agreeable.”

 

“Some people haven’t seen thousands of hours of your interview footage.  I know when you’re being a pill.”

 

They were apparently eating in the kitchen rather than the formal dining room, as that table had been laid with dinnerware and a vase of fresh white flowers.  She nodded to the seat at the head of the table when placing one of the plates there.  Jon assumed that was to be his station and set the wine bottle and one glass down before leaning to place the other glass by her plate.

 

“How’d you become a Bon Jovi fan, anyway?  First time I met you, I had you pegged more as the ‘My Fair Lady’ type.  I’d still think so if you didn’t randomly quote lyrics at me.”

 

Figuring she’d appreciate a couth gesture, he held Teddi’s chair and waited as she slid into it.  “I owe it to a dormitory neighbor in sophomore year of high school.”

 

“How so?” he inquired, scooting his own chair into the table and properly draping the snowy napkin across his lap.  Was white considered a lighter shade of beige or a different color entirely?  To be in this house, it had to be on the beige spectrum.

 

“Ann Marie was a New Yorker who came back from winter break with a copy of the ‘New York Rocks 1983’ album.  She played it so incessantly that it was only a couple of weeks before someone ‘accidentally’ stepped on the cassette.  It was crushed beyond repair, but I’d already heard ‘Runaway’ at least fifty times by then.”

 

She really had been around since the beginning, as he’d been led to believe that first night.  Not just the beginning but the very beginning… and he liked the way that felt.  Like she was an old friend that he just hadn’t met until recently. 

 

You’re gettin’ sentimental in your old age. 

 

He dug deep for his cynicism to point out, “Twisted Sister was on that album, too.  Why am I here instead of Dee Snider?”

 

“Have you seen his nose?  Please,” she jokingly scoffed while dissecting a scallop into four precise segments.  “The truth is that I was contemplating running away at the time.  Your subject matter happened to be timely.”

 

He found it hard to imagine her in the same scenario as the teenagers who inspired those lyrics.  Things would have to be hellish for her to consider giving up boarding school life in favor of working the Greyhound station. 

 

“I keep getting the idea that life with Grandmother wasn’t exactly a bowl of cherries.”

 

“Life with Grandmother was fine,” she countered with the same lack of conviction as the first time he heard that line a couple nights ago.  “Life with Deidre was another matter.  She’s a year younger, so my sophomore year was her freshman.”

 

“What do you mean?  You went to the same school?”

 

“Yes.  It was the best, and she wouldn’t be slighted by going elsewhere.”

 

“What’d she do that made you think about running away?”

 

“Nothing in particular.  It’s a difficult enough age for a girl under any circumstances.  Having a vengeful adversary simply made it harder.”  The slight shrug was meant to convey indifference but fell short. 

 

“Vengeful?  I still don’t get why in the hell she and her brother disliked you so much.  What kind of parent teaches their kid to hate another family member?”

 

“I long ago gave up dwelling on the how and why,” Teddi told him without emotion.  “Tori believes that Randolph’s wife didn’t like the reminder of his infidelity, and that’s as reasonable an explanation as any.  The woman wasn’t particularly kind to me, and her children followed suit.”

 

He would’ve pressed for specifics of what that entailed, but his hostess deliberately picked up another topic.      

 

“Speaking of vengeful, what’s the story behind your Godfather post today?  Who are you serving revenge upon?  With a hashtag, no less.”

 

While he understood that recent events made her family an unwelcome source of conversation, this wasn’t a direction that would avoid them.  It also wasn’t a direction he was excited to go, and Jon was grateful when Teddi took a delicate bite from her fork.  She unwittingly provided inspiration for a detour that bypassed it all.

 

“You’re a fantastic cook, by the way.”  The praise was delivered with a earnest smile.  “Where’d you learn to make this wine sauce?”

 

“You’re being a pill again.”

 

Her fandom brought with it both good and bad points, Jon was coming to discover.  It was nice that she knew what to serve him for dinner, but it would be helpful if she didn’t know to look beyond the damn smile. 

 

“That was a sincere compliment,” he protested with a light scowl.

 

“For which I thank you, even though you chose the timing of your delivery to sidestep the question.”  A slim hand lifted when he again started to protest.  “And that is entirely your prerogative.  Just because I’ve been spewing personal information like a champagne fountain doesn’t mean you should.  I’d still like to discuss social media, however.”

 

I’d rather discuss a root canal. 

 

“Too bad.  I fired you.”

 

“You did,” she agreed easily, putting her fork aside in favor of wine.  “But since I’m offering advice in the vein of friendship, my employment status isn’t of concern.”

 

“Oh, so now you’re gonna be a pain in the ass just for fun?”  He barked a humorless laugh.  “I’ve got plenty of pain in the ass friends already.  Lema fills my quota and then some, so thank you very much, but no.”

 

“Oh, come on, Jon.”

 

Deliberately choosing to misinterpret the target of her disgust, he focused on twirling pasta with an innocent, “What?  You haven’t talked to him enough to know he’s a pain in the ass?  It only takes about five minutes to figure it out.”

 

“He’s… unique,” Teddi conceded while Jon chewed.  “But he’s also seems to have good intentions – as do I.  You’ve had steroid injections in your vocal cords, for heaven’s sake.  Social media is nowhere near as painful.”

 

“That’s a matter of opinion.  At least the shots weren’t a prolonged agony.”

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re whiny?”

 

His face split into a wide grin that wouldn’t hold back Jon’s laughter.  “Dorothea might’ve mentioned it a time or two, but usually when I was sick.  She shut me up with bribes of booze or cookies.”

 

A look came into Teddi’s eyes – not quite Gypsy but definitely not Dr. Cookie – and she pushed away her plate to make room on the table for folded forearms.  “I’ve provided both, yet you continue to complain about doing your time online.  Perhaps I need to reconsider what I’m offering.”

 

“I seem to recall some mention of peach pie.”

 

A coquettishly cock-eyed smile twitched one corner of her mouth.  “Yes.  About that….  I didn’t bother with the pie.  Call me presumptuous, but I thought you might be more interested in just the peach.”

 

“Presumptuous?  Nah.”  There was still a lot of food on his plate, but as far as Jon was concerned, dinner was over.  He picked up his wineglass with the intention of draining it.  “I’d say you’re an intelligent and perceptive woman.”

 

“Smart enough to exploit your openness to bribery.”

 

The glass never touched his lips.  It froze halfway between the table and Jon’s mouth.

 

She’s going to exploit me with bribery?  What the fuck?  I don’t think so.

 

He slowly placed the glass back on the table, careful to make sure the bottom was safely seated.  Then Jon leaned back and crossed both arms over his chest, with every intention of giving her a stink-eye so brutal that it would have her clutching that anxiety talisman for dear life. 

 

Except that she wasn’t wearing it.   

 

For the first time tonight, he realized that her neckline was bare.  There was no little filigree teardrop resting against her sternum, and it was startling enough to make him forget stink-eyes and indignation. 

 

“Where’s your necklace?”

 

Her hand rose instantly, with two fingertips stroking the unnaturally bare spot.  “In my jewelry box.”

 

“You don’t always wear it?”

 

There was a dainty jut to Teddi’s chin when she spoke into his eyes.  “Normally, yes, but I was feeling brave tonight.  I knew I’d be safe with you.”

 

Well, fuck.

 

Jon hoped she was going to bribe him with something good, because after that, he would have a hard time refusing her anything.