“Colin, your…your former…Tressa is on the line.” Jeanette gave Colin a terse smile as he returned from lunch the next day.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell her to bugger off forever for me?”
Jeanette shot him a sarcastic look. “Colin, I may be your personal assistant, but that doesn’t mean I assist you in personal matters. And considering she’s Will Lloyd-Hudson’s daughter, it’s not fair to even ask me to get involved.”
Colin raised a hand, “It’s not fair of her to call at the office at all. But the woman is impossible.”
“That doesn’t make her my problem. You almost got engaged to her; you can tell her it’s over.”
“I have done,” Colin said as he went through to his office. “Repeatedly. She doesn’t listen.” The quiet Federal-style décor was intended to communicate a soothing and reassuring stability to clients and visitors, but Colin felt anything but soothed and reassured as he slid behind his massive mahogany desk.
Taking a deep breath before picking up the receiver, Colin went on the offensive immediately. “Tressa, I’ve told you, I have absolutely nothing to say to you anymore. And you have nothing to say to me that I would ever want to hear.”
“Colin, I thought we could get past this. I made a mistake. I admitted it.” Tressa at least did not waste any energy with denials or evasions this time. A lawyer’s daughter, she knew where to cut her adversarial losses.
“That’s right. You admitted to the one ‘mistake’ that I find unforgivable. Honesty is crucial to me, and sexual fidelity is paramount. Apparently, you don’t see things the same way. That’s what your father would call a ‘deal breaker.’”
“Colin, it’s been two months…”
“And in two years or two decades, I will still feel the same way.”
“But I am so incredibly sorry—”
“As I’ve heard before. I appreciate your apology, but it doesn’t change anything. And as someone recently said to me, when you apologize once, people remember the apology. When you apologize repeatedly, they remember what you had to apologize for. Not that I could forget in either case.” He swiveled in his chair, looked out the window. An uninspiring view of the generic office building on the other side of K Street.
“But—”
“No.” Colin squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You seem to think I’m going to change my mind. I am not. Once my trust is lost, it’s lost forever. I won’t be taking your calls again. Goodbye.”
He rang off, cradling the receiver softly. Where did that come from? Why had he remembered that woman’s—Alicia’s—words at that moment? Remembering her impish smile, her quickness, made him take a deep breath. Never mind. She was probably trouble. And he had hopefully just said his last goodbye to trouble.
Jeanette walked through the door he had left open, glancing at his credenza with the photos of his father, brother, and sister. She reached out a hand to move a photo to the still-empty spot where a picture of him and Tressa on holiday in the Bahamas had once sat. Colin looked at the photo of his family, the four of them in front of the Washington Monument, a souvenir from a visit the year before. Their smiles were warm and genuine. He did miss them.
“Your dad also called earlier,” Jeanette said.
“And what did Dr. St. Cyr have to say?” Colin sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“The usual. He wanted to know when you’re coming home. Tried to dig any inside information I might have out of me, in fact.”
“Dad’s not subtle,” Colin said. “And it appears he may never understand that I am home.” He’d made a new home here, one that was his own, free of the shadow of unmet expectation. “I’ll call Gemma tonight.” Maybe his sister could give him some insight on whatever new lever his father had decided to pressure him with.
Alicia shucked off her sweaty spandex capris and pulled on a pair of shorts in the dressing room of the barre studio. Sitting to tie her sneakers, she went through the rest of her plans for the day. The theater was dark on Monday, her one day off of the week. She didn’t mind the busy schedule. To be honest, she welcomed it.
In fact, having the entire day to fill wasn’t something she relished.
Yanking on her shoelaces, she stood up and riffled her fingers through her hair. Glancing in the mirror, she saw that it was sticking up in strange, sweaty tufts. “Ugh.” She moved to the sink to splash water on her face, running her wet hands through and over her hair to smooth it down.
“At least water works for you, not against you,” a voice said as Alicia patted her face with a towel. Opening her eyes, she looked in the mirror and saw a good-humored, freckled face grinning at her. The other woman’s curly, strawberry-blond hair was nominally pulled back in a ponytail, but frizzy wisps curled over her head like a halo.
“I think your hair is pretty,” Alicia said. “Like a Botticelli angel or something.” There was something about the curls that made her think of Gracie. Her throat threatened to close up at the memory, and Alicia swallowed hard.
Gracie again.
The other woman pouted at her own reflection. “I guess we always want the opposite of what we have. I thought I would outgrow that. Everyone always said, ‘Oh, mark my words: you’ll love your curly hair one day!’” She fingered a fuzzy strand. “They were wrong. Especially in the humidity.”
“Which there is more than enough of here,” Alicia said.
“You said it.” The other woman’s open, friendly expression seemed to be paving the way for more conversation, so Alicia grabbed her bag and waved as she left the dressing room.
“Nice talking to you,” Alicia said as she walked toward the door to the street. The day was sunny and hot and yes, humid, but she was already sweaty from her workout. She didn’t care how she looked. She could be as anonymous as she liked.
And Alicia liked anonymity.
Taking a long pull on her water bottle, she strode down Ninth Street. She was still unexpectedly charmed by the low buildings of D.C., in stark contrast to the steel and concrete canyons that she had grown used to in New York. She liked the greater view of the sky, the utter whimsicality of a solid, neoclassical building squatting across the street from an airy, modernist confection seemingly spun out of glass.
Alicia swung her arms to stretch and loosen her muscles and settled her gym bag more securely on her shoulder. She thought about the possibility of actually living here full-time. What would it mean? Would she be able to get enough work? She relished the sunshine pouring over her body, reveling in the heat. Would she ever be truly cold again if she lived here?
“And…fifteen. Nice.” Russell helped Colin rack the barbell, and Colin wiped the sweat off his face with a towel.
“Ready to see if you can top that?” Colin grinned up at Russell and stood to spot his friend as the other man lay down on the bench, lifting the weight from the rack. Watching the fall and rise of the bar, a shock of pale blond hair in the corner of his eye made him jerk his head to the right. Embarrassed to see it was not a lithe woman, but rather a young guy with an unfortunate man bun, Colin’s eyes flicked back to Russell.
Too late. The other man had noticed his wandering attention.
“Cruising for something…or someone, my friend?” Russell’s upside-down face grinned and he winked. “Good thing I was keeping count. That’s fifty for me.”
“Bullshit,” Colin replied. “Unless you’ve turned into a comic book character with super speed-lifting powers, that’s the biggest load of bollocks ever. Even from you.”
“Aaagghhh,” Russell grunted, and Colin hovered his hands under the bar as his friend racked the weight. “No,” he said, sitting up and shaking out his trembling arms then scrubbed a towel over the dark brown skin of his shaved head. “Not even close. Just eight to your fifteen.”
“You’re all in from the looks of it. Ready to shower and grab a beer?”
“Finer words were never spoken.” Russell grabbed his towel, and the two headed for the locker rooms.
Stepping out onto the street a short time later, they headed for a bar a couple of blocks away by longstanding mutual habit. Colin held the door as Russell stepped inside.
“Two Sam Adams,” Russell said to the bartender as they slid onto stools. “Now. What was with the distracted act back there?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Colin said, lifting the pint the bartender handed him to his lips and looking straight back at the rows of bottles behind the bar.
Russell leaned forward onto the bar, craning his neck to look his friend in the face. “Don’t even try that with me. I know distraction when I see it. Professors are experts in watching people zone out. And if I were to guess…I’d say there was a woman involved.”
“Oh, would you?” Colin turned to look at Russell.
“Unless you’ve suddenly got a thing for skinny blond dudes? Yeah. But hey. I don’t judge.” Russell winked and sipped his beer.
Colin set his pint down on the cardboard coaster in front of him. “I’m not interested in anything but work these days.”
“Just because Tressa did a number on you doesn’t mean you have to check out on the human race, my friend. Especially the female half. It’s been two months. Time to get back in the game.”
Colin huffed a laugh. “And Tressa called me today seeming to think that two months was the correct amount of time for me to forgive and forget what she had done.”
Russell grimaced at the mention of Colin’s ex. “Slim to no chance of that ever happening if I know you.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I’m not checking out. Just taking a break.”
“Right. Which is why you were checking out a random dude because you thought he might be a woman. Makes perfect sense.”
Colin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I met a woman last night at the Folger party. She was attractive. But she seemed like trouble. That’s it.”
“Right,” Russell drawled again, picking up his beer. “Trouble.”
Alicia propped her iPad on the wobbly little café table in the shady garden in front of her apartment. Reviewing Susan’s e-mail again, she chewed on one fingertip. Susan always had to have someone to confide in, and that role rotated, usually to the newest person who hadn’t figured out her games yet.
Alicia was the only one Susan ever returned to, when all other options were exhausted. Alicia supposed she should be insulted by this, but somehow, she never was. Susan’s bitchy competitiveness with its thin veneer of false friendliness amused Alicia.
Susan would hate that if she knew.
Not that Alicia would ever tell her. Alicia’s few friendships were loose, light things, reflecting the nomadic nature of her life. But keeping tabs on Susan was professionally smart. They were all too often up for the same roles.
She tapped “Reply” and thought for another minute before starting to type.
To: Susan Vernon
From: Alicia Johnson
Subject: Re: Ugh.
Oh, don’t worry about the silence. What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t let each other focus on ourselves from time to time? Sorry I couldn’t stay for much of the party. The reviews are FABULOUS, though. I hear there’s a possibility it will transfer to New York?
Alicia paused here, well aware that Susan’s tantrums had probably sunk her chances of staying with the show for an extended run, and thinking of New York, glanced down the quiet Capitol Hill street. Could she really stay here? For a while at least? She’d have to leave the cozy garden apartment in the old town house at the end of the summer when the professor who owned it returned from her summer abroad, but that didn’t bother Alicia, as much as she liked its charm. Moving on was nothing new to her. Alicia decided to table that thought and returned to her e-mail.
And Cath and Paul are getting married? Frankly, it’s about time those two crazy kids got serious.
Alicia liked the pair, what she knew of them. And Susan’s claims that Paul had always been into her had seemed all too…well, all too Susan to be true. A feral grin spread across Alicia’s face when she thought how much her bland acknowledgement of a thing that had been almost inevitable would tick Susan off.
We’re beyond previews, sweetie. A week into the run, if you can believe it. We had a big shindig for donors last night. You know the kind of thing: let people get a thrill from talking to actual actors. Balance a ball on your nose for some rich people. And I did meet a lobbyist! Tall, dark, handsome, and…kind of an asshole, to be honest. Oh, well. What can you expect from rich people anyway?
Realizing she was chewing on her nail again, Alicia whipped the finger out of her mouth and wiped it on her shorts. She wondered if she should keep that last piece. It was a bit more open than she usually was in her e-mails to Susan. Shrugging one shoulder, she let it stand.
Anyway, enjoying a day off. Hot and sunny here. How is it in your rural hideaway?
Xoxo-’Lis
Alicia tapped “Send” without reviewing the e-mail again. Either it would enrage Susan and Alicia wouldn’t hear from her again for a few weeks or months, or she would get a nice, gossipy message in a day or so. Either outcome was fine with her.
“So, this ‘trouble’ woman. Why so troubling?” Russell’s deep brown eyes filled with humor as he looked at Colin.
“I’m not sure. I thought we were having a nice conversation, if a bit confusing, and suddenly she just scarpered.”
“Scarpered.”
“Yes.”
“That British for ‘fucked off’?”
“Quite.”
“Can you think of anything you might have done to make her…er, scarper?”
Colin rubbed his chin. “I don’t think so. I mean, I got off on the wrong foot with her initially, but then I thought the conversation was going rather well.”
“Wait, wait, back up—what wrong foot?” Russell’s expression was amused. “And did you use that wrong foot to step on her toes?”
Colin grimaced. “Well, she is an actress in the production. And…I might have intimated that I thought actors were…not trustworthy.”
Russell blinked. “You called her a liar and were surprised that scarpering happened?”
“You’ve become all too fond of that word in a very short amount of time, my friend.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Russell said. “How the hell did you walk back from that? And don’t tell me it was British charm.”
“Oh, it wasn’t. It was an abject apology.”
“Abject?” Russell’s eyes crinkled. He was enjoying this too much, damn him.
Colin pinched his thumb and forefinger close together. “This close to a complete grovel.”
“Okay.” Russell took a long sip of beer. “And you managed to grovel, walk back from that, and still piss her off? How?”
Shrugging, Colin set his own glass down. “I have no idea. We were talking, I was a bit baffled. Every time I would think I had her figured out a little, she would surprise me. I was…off balance around her.”
“Hm. And she just walked off?”
“Well she said her castmate was calling her over.”
“You sound like you don’t believe her. Again.”
Colin shrugged.
“Let me get this straight,” Russell said, extending one finger. “You call the woman a liar having barely met her.” Another finger joined the first. “You managed to apologize well enough that she didn’t tell you to fuck off forever.” A third finger. “You still somehow don’t trust her when she says a colleague is calling her over and she has to leave.” Russell studied Colin’s face. “And if you looked anything like that,” he said, waving the three fingers at Colin’s expression, “she probably saw this distrust in your eyes. You should never play poker.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.” Russell picked up his pint again. “But I’ll tell you what as someone who’s been married, divorced, and live to tell the tale. This sounds like Tressa living rent-free in your head.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You meet someone new and the first thing you think of is what broke up your last relationship.”
“You’re saying I think she shagged the doorman of her condo like Tressa did?”
“Cute. No. I’m saying this woman…does she have a name, anyway?” Russell asked.
“Alicia.”
“You meet Alicia and the first thing you assume is that she’s lying to you. Like Tressa did. You’re looking for patterns.”
Colin shifted on the bar stool, turning this truth over in his mind.
Russell jabbed him in the ribs with an index finger. “Seems like Alicia got under your skin, dude. Any plans to see her again?”
“What would I do? Go to the play again? Wait at the stage door?”
“Yeah. No. That’s stalker territory.” Russell frowned, staring at nothing.
“But…” Almost against his will, Colin felt his lips curling up in a smile.
“Yes?”
“She told me she sings every Sunday night at Club Zanzibar.”
Russell’s face split in a wide grin. “Need a wingman?”