CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Riley couldn’t have looked worse if the businessman had physically punched him. His shoulders slumped, his exuberance crumbling like a clay mask the instant Hammond was out of sight.

“Your soufflés,” said the waiter, depositing two creamy chocolate desserts in front of them. A third was laid at Hammond’s place, a ghostly reminder of its former occupant.

“Can we send this one back, please?” Val asked, inching the soufflé towards the server. “Our, um, friend had to leave for another appointment.” It was too late, no doubt; they would charge it to Riley's bill anyway. She wondered if he had enough cash to actually pay for it.
The waiter nodded. “Of course.” He whisked the offending dessert back to the kitchen, leaving the two of them in defeated silence. A void filled only by the clink of silverware and conversational tones of their fellow diners.

“Guess I blew that pretty effectively.” Riley ran a hand over his face, the youthful features taking on a haggard appearance in the low lighting.

“I’m sorry.” Val’s tone was gentle, the same one she reserved for clients whenever an event took a disastrous turn. Which wasn’t often, thanks to her meticulous planning–something this arrangement had sorely lacked.

“You’re the one who deserves the apology,” he said. “If wasn’t for me, you’d be with your friends right now. Instead of watching the death of a short and unprosperous career.”

“It’s fine,” she lied. Picking up her spoon, she dipped it in the dessert. “Maybe he’ll change his mind,” she suggested. Although the odds of this were practically nonexistent, as she knew from overhearing his phone conversation.

Riley gave a bitter laugh. “I think Hammond knows a hack salesman when he sees one. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this line of work.”

“But I thought you…” Val bit her lip, trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound accusing. “Isn’t this your passion? You sounded so dedicated to it on the car ride. Psyched even,” she said, using his own description.

“It wasn’t my first career choice actually.” His spoon blended the contents of his bowl, slowly mashing it into a pile of glop. “My dad snagged me an intern position with Solar Systems when I was a college senior. My own ambition was something way, way less practical.”
She detected a hint of a smile with this confession. Something between affection and hesitance that stirred her curiosity.

“What was your dream job?” she asked. Forgetting she wasn’t obligated to get involved in any of this, her chin propped on her hands as she awaited the answer.

“You’ll laugh,” he warned. “It’s kind of stupid.”

She quirked her brows. “As stupid as slaving away for a job you don’t even care about? I doubt that.”

“Nice point. You've convinced me.” Riley’s fingers played nervously with his tie, unfurling the perfect knot as he spoke. “So my whole life, since I was like ten, I’ve been obsessed with music–especially rock music. I was even the guitar player for this garage band in high school. We called ourselves Intensity.”

Val suppressed a snort with this bit of information. Inside thinking it was the perfect match for his manic personality, especially when it was about ten years younger.

“So I’m guessing you wanted to be a rock star?” Val said. “And spent all your spare time learning riffs from Springsteen and Lynryd Skynyrd songs.”

“I can play all those…on Guitar Hero.” He was grinning with this modest confession. “Seriously, though, I loved the music and wanted to be part of it. Which is probably why it seemed like a great idea to become a professional disc jockey.”

She was surprised by this turn in the story. “That’s not stupid–it’s perfect. I mean, you’ve got the passion, you’re energetic, you’re funny...” She trailed off, flustered by how rapidly this list of compliments was growing for someone she barely knew. This was the price of being nice to strangers–one cobbled together an image of them from a few short marks.

“You really think so? The only experience I had was a part time gig at the college radio station. But my boss thought I had a ‘smooth groove’ persona.”

“Did you?” she teased. Fully expecting him to shrug it off with a reticent chuckle and change the subject.

Instead, he cleared his throat, a serious gleam appearing in his expression. Speaking into his dessert spoon as if it were an announcer’s mic, he assumed a low, velvety voice. “Greetings night owls, music lovers, and insomniacs. This is Captain Midnight bringing you the cool and cruel sounds of rock n’ roll–”

Unable to stop herself, Val exploded into laughter. Her unladylike squeals attracted the stares of fellow dinners, as she attempted to muffle it with her napkin.

“I’m sorry,” she said, controlling herself. “You sounded very professional and everything ... it’s just, well…Captain Midnight?”

He blushed, his fingers continuing to toy with the spoon. “I picked it because I worked the midnight shift. And I was kind of lame and thought it would impress this girl from my media class.” He shrugged.

“I’m guessing it didn’t?” She wiped the traces of mirth from around her eyes. Her dessert forgotten as she tried to picture the earnest young Riley pursuing a beautiful classmate.

“Let’s just say she called in a song dedication for someone else," he answered. "I figured it was over when she requested ‘Killing Me Softly’ for Brian in Biology 101.”

He, too, was laughing now, which only revived her own. In this moment, she was seeing the most relaxed version of Riley of their brief acquaintance. Tie undone, the ends trailing as if he’d loosened it after a night of raucous celebration.

“What about you?” he asked, after a moment. “Any unfulfilled dreams or aspirations?”

Her heart fluttered, her thoughts automatically picturing the letter tucked inside her bag. That wasn't the only lost dream, of course. She had lost bigger ones than a school-era crush slipping away from her.

“I’m pretty content,” she said. “A job I enjoy, a great group of friends. But I wouldn’t mind traveling more, I guess. This place is the closest I’ve been to the exotic in a while.”

Sad but true. Val hadn’t been on a real vacation since college, when her roommates would road trip for spring break to the nearest beach or resort.

“Maybe someplace like Ireland,” she mused, swishing the contents in her wine glass as she thought of the golf course. “Getting back to my roots so to speak. Jagged cliffs and crumbling castles and evenings in some cozy village pub…”

She realized she was painting a romantic picture with this fantasy, since her mind was imagining someone to share this with. Someone tall and masculine, with golden hair and an athletic stride–that was where she cut the image short. She was picturing a grown-up version of her childhood crush, the profile picture on Jason’s network page surging beneath her guilty conscience.

“But instead, you’re going to Virginia," Riley said, his remark making her blush with its unperceived clarity. Her vacation hours, her savings, were funneled into a trip to someone else's wedding.

“True,” she said. “I guess the Shamrock Golf Course is to blame for this foreign travel urge. Because, of course, I’m excited for the wedding. It'll be good to see them again.”

She drained the rest of her wine, eager to avoid his gaze. Any little slipup might give away her secret worries regarding this event.

“At least you’re probably getting to stay at one of those historic plantations. Or is it more of like a garden venue type setup?”

“A hotel, actually. Something ‘modern with a dash of Antebellum’–that’s what the brochure said anyway.” Her brow furrowed with a puzzled thought. “Jason always liked the beach so I’m really surprised they’re not having an outdoor ceremony. I always pictured–”

She broke off, heat consuming her face with the realization that the first name she had spoken of the couple was the groom's – a bad sign, if Riley remembered anything at all from their car conversation.

“Well, everybody changes, right?" she said, with a smile. "Knowing Heather, she probably didn’t want to risk the weather turning bad or something.”

Exactly the opposite of the kind of behavior which might trigger suspicion in the mind of anyone remotely observant.

Leaning across the table, Riley searched her face with hesitant curiosity. “This is probably way out there," he said. "But it seems like you and Jason…were you more than just friends? Because it sounds like you were closer to him than you were to your other friend. The bride, Heather.”

“What?” Val’s eyes grew wide. “I was friends with both of them, in fact, best friends with Heather. Me and Jason, we weren’t anything special. I mean, not anything more special than a good friend.”

Not for him anyway, she thought. And not in a way which would ever matter to anyone except herself.

“They invited me because we were all three close,” she continued. “I’m sort of the connection, the longtime friend you keep up with. Sort of like the geyser in Yellowstone Park, 'Old Faithful’. Heather says I'm the kind of person you can always rely on to be there for what matters.”

“But you're successful,” he argued. “I mean, event planning is a huge force in the job market right now. I'm kind of surprised they thought you'd have time to come all this way for a wedding.”

She shrugged. “Some of it’s for me," she admitted. "Shaking a lifelong image takes time. It'll be the first chance for them to see me–really see me– for the person I became after we all grew up."

What she wanted them to see, she didn't say. The person in the note, the potential soul mate and devoted heart who had been overlooked–this wasn't her reason for going there with the note in her possession.

“Guess I just misread things,” said Riley. Although he didn’t seem too convinced as he added, “Not that I’m a relationship expert or anything.”

She laughed, albeit a trifle shakily. “Sure, I may have had a little crush back in high school." Admitting this, she felt a slight prickle beneath her skin. "But that was eons ago. Back then, I was just the boring, geeky friend. And as far as anyone knows, I still am. ”

This was meant to sound good-natured, but even she could hear the ache in her voice. The pain of hearing Jason's voice on the phone, announcing that he was marrying her best friend, had returned in full force. The punishment for that fleeting fantasy that he finally realized their friendship was meant for something more.

Rather than endure some form of fake sympathy, she made a show of checking the time on her cell phone. “Wow–it’s getting kind of late. I should really get some sleep with a long drive ahead tomorrow.”

“Right, of course.” Riley rose from his chair at the same instant, but didn’t make a move to follow her. His gaze holding hers a few seconds longer as he said, “Listen, I–I really can’t say thanks enough for what you did today. Even if it didn’t work, I still appreciate it.”

“You're welcome,” she said. To escape now, without a goodbye was the best thing to do. Except he still wore an expectant look from across the table.

“There’s an ATM machine downtown,” he began. "So I’ll need the car keys a little longer, if I’m going to round up some cash for a train ticket back to Delaware. ”

“Sure,” said Val. “I’ll just get them from you in the morning.”

She shouldered her bag higher as she strode towards the lobby, imagining he watched her leave with something akin to pity. As she passed the front desk, her gaze flitted to the open doorway to the bar. Where her own feelings of gloominess were mirrored in the handful of individuals slumped over a drink.

Her pace slowed, her eye detecting something familiar in the figure seated closest to the door. A blue business jacket, rumpled gray-brown hair, an expensive watch of the Rolex breed.

Jack Hammond, it seemed, didn’t have a social engagement after all.