Daryl saw her the moment she stepped into the lounge. He smiled. She looked good, real good. She had attitude, like she knew how to take care of business. He liked that in a woman.
Just as soon as he could, he played Miles’s “’Round Midnight” for her. She’d requested that before, so Daryl knew she liked Miles Davis. And Daryl liked what he saw in her: the wild hair all over the place, the tight dresses, and those sexy high-heeled shoes. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup, but she obviously loved jewelry. Tonight, long dangling earrings matched her red dress.
At his first break, he made his way to her table.
“You’re not going to escape on me tonight, Cinderella.”
She smiled. “I promise I won’t turn into a pumpkin or anything like that.”
He held a hand out toward the second chair at her table. “Do you mind?”
“Not if you don’t,” she said.
Daryl smiled. This was working out just fine. Just fine, indeed. He took a seat. The waitress put a glass of ice water in front of him and left another glass of white wine for the lady.
“My name’s Daryl. Daryl Desmond.”
“Sheila,” she said, extending a hand to him. “I’ve enjoyed listening to you these last few weeks.”
“Thanks. I enjoy playing music for people who appreciate it. You like Miles Davis, huh?”
She nodded. “Among others.”
Daryl looked around. The place was starting to fill up. “I’ll be pretty busy the rest of the night,” he told her. “I wanted to take a moment to say hello before things got really busy.”
“I’m glad you did.”
He nodded. “So, like, would you like to go out afterward? This is a good place for people to meet. But it’s a little difficult for me, you know, doing the music and all.”
She glanced around, then faced him again. “I’d like that.”
“Bet. We can grab a bite and talk a little.”
Smiling, she lifted her glass. “It’s a date, then.” She smiled as she sipped, peeking at him above the rim.
Daryl nodded. Yeah, man. This was gonna be right.
The night passed in slow motion as far as Daryl was concerned. At one point, Sheila left, but she held up a finger, then tapped her wrist. Daryl assumed that meant she’d be back. Apparently he was right, because she appeared again about forty-five minutes before closing.
The music had been perfect all evening. He’d even made quite a bit in tips, if looking at the jar was any indication. This gig at Della’s Place gave him the creative outlet he needed. He also got to meet interesting people. And soon, if Della went for it, he’d be able to play some of his own music and showcase his true skills.
He closed the night with a mellow Luther Vandross tune, then packed up the equipment that he traveled with. Sheila sat at her table waiting for him. He’d noticed that she could make two glasses of wine last a long time. That was a good sign.
“Don’t need to be bothered with any drunks,” he said.
“What was that, Daryl?”
He looked up. “Oh, hi, Della. I didn’t see you tonight.”
Della glanced around. “I just came over a little while ago after finishing up some paperwork. Thought I’d drop in and see how things were going. I think I’m going to wire the salon office so I hear the music when I work late.”
“Speaking of listening to music…” Daryl said.
Della chuckled and tapped him on the arm. “I did. And you’re right. It would be perfect for the playlist here.”
“Yes!” He grabbed Della, hugged her, and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “Della, you are the woman.”
Laughing, she nodded toward the table where a customer still sat. “Looks like someone’s waiting for you.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s the woman I was asking you about.”
Della surreptitiously glanced at her. “That’s…” She paused taking a good, closer look. An elegant eyebrow rose. “Well, I’ll be.”
“What?” Daryl said. “Something I need to know?”
Shaking her head, Della continued to stare at the woman. “Good set tonight, Daryl. When you get a chance, stop by the office next week. There’s something I want you to know about.”
“Night,” he said, as he watched Della approach Sheila. They exchanged a few words, but he couldn’t hear what was said.
“Women sure know how to whisper when they want to,” he said as he coiled an extension cord.
* * *
“This is awesome,” he said. They’d found a little Italian restaurant still open. Sheila nibbled on antipasto while Daryl did serious damage to a big dish of lasagna. A bottle of red wine had gone mostly untouched, but the basket of Italian bread had been replenished twice.
“You sure you don’t want any?” he said, indicating the lasagna. “There’s enough for about four people.”
“It looks good,” she said. “But I’m dieting.”
“Why? You look fine—better than fine.”
She smiled. “Thank you. But I could stand to lose a few pounds.”
He shook his head and put his fork down. “Men like to put their arms around some flesh. How come you women worry about that stuff? There’s a commercial, I think for some cereal, where a bunch of guys stand around asking, ‘Do you think this makes my butt look big?’ They sound crazy. And that’s how you all sound. Crazy.”
Seeing the amusement in his eyes, she laughed. “Well, we want to look our best for the fellas. Gotta keep up the feminine wiles, you know.”
A chuckle started deep in his throat and worked its way up until a big burst of laughter came out. “Well, if that’s the case,” he said, “eat those olives, baby, and throw some of your wiles on me.”
Laughing, she finally relented. Daryl served her some of the lasagna from the deep dish and nodded when she sopped up a bit of tomato sauce with bread.
“That’s more like it.” He cut himself another helping, then hefted it onto his own plate. Tearing off a piece of bread, he buttered it and popped it in his mouth.
“As long as you know I’m going to have to work off these calories,” Sheila said. She glanced at him. “It’ll take some strenuous exercise.”
His eyes widened and he paused with his fork in midair. A vaguely sensuous light passed between them. His gaze dipped to her cleavage.
Daryl cleared his throat. Sheila smiled.
“You coming on to me?” he said.
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re gonna skip dessert.”
Sheila smiled. But her smile wavered a bit under his intense scrutiny. Things were moving a bit too fast. She’d gotten totally wrapped up in her sexy alter ego persona. She’d been buttoned up and closed down so long that all those pent-up emotions and urges were just bubbling and churning, like a volcano about to erupt.
Her feet hurt from the heels she’d been in for too many hours. But she couldn’t very well take them off. She’d never be able to put them back on. Besides, she’d left her flats at home.
Even more important than that, though, she needed to apply the brakes to the runaway train she’d set on a collision course with this man.
“Daryl, there’s something I need to tell you.”
He nodded as he chewed.
Sheila studied him for a moment. Daryl was a good-looking brother, but not in the way of Madison Avenue ad agencies, his face too square and his nose larger than the features found on models. She guessed him to be on the better side of thirty. Of medium height, he stood just a couple of inches taller than her own five-foot-six. But he carried himself with a commanding air of self-confidence. That, she realized, was why she’d been attracted to him the first time she’d seen him at Della’s Place.
If anything, she’d describe Daryl Desmond as all-American. And he had that all-male way of honing right in on what appeared to be an easy lay. But Sheila wasn’t easy. She just didn’t know how to change the course she’d set them on. All the men she worked with liked to talk about themselves—incessantly. If Daryl could sit there and stereotype women as all being obsessed with weight, she could assume he’d want to talk about himself.
“What do you do?” she asked.
He looked at her. What seemed like a small sigh slumped his shoulders. Then he straightened. “Doing music is my thing,” he said. “I work for the city during the day.”
That was a good sign, Sheila thought. He carried himself well, was well-spoken. Maybe he was an administrator or department head.
He nodded. “I’ve put in almost eight years. It’s a good job with good money. I have my own little world that I’m responsible for every day. I’ve got no complaints,” he said on a shrug.
Sheila sensed he had something else to say. “But?”
He smiled. “Perceptive, huh? The but is that there’s more I want to do with my life. Don’t get me wrong, my job has its rewards. I get to meet some really incredible people. There’s just more out there for me.”
“You mean your DJ role?”
He shook his head. “That’s just part of it. I enjoy doing DJ work. I’ve been at it so long it’s second nature. But I make music, too. That’s my real passion. I’ve been talking to Della Frazier—and I’ve been trying to get her to let me add my stuff to the playlist.”
“What do you play?”
“A little of everything,” he said. “I can work my way around an alto sax, a little horn. But I’m a keyboardist.”
“I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
“That, Miss Sheila, can be arranged.”
The beginning of a teasing little smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “It’s a date, then.”
Daryl finished off the last of the lasagna on his plate and pushed the empty plate aside. “I’ve been doing all the talking so far. It’s your turn. Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?” Sheila asked the question hoping she wouldn’t have to out-and-out lie. She’d never been able to keep track of tall tales. The charade she was playing—acting like a party girl—was enough of a challenge without adding spoken untruths.
He drank from his glass of Coke. “Well, how about starting where you began with me. What do you do?”
Sheila smiled. The right answer came to her without any trouble. All she had to do was be evasive. Men liked a little mystery.
“Nothing right now,” she said. “And that’s the way I like it. The checks come in and I sit back.”
Daryl’s answering smile faded a bit. The last thing he needed was somebody looking for a rent payment. He’d run into her kind before. Usually they spelled trouble for a brother’s bank account. The ones whose first question was, “What do you do?” meant they were calculating how much they could get from a man. Daryl had been down that road before … with Pam, and before Pam, with Wanda. Both of them had been nothing but moochers.
No, siree. He’d been burned twice before. It didn’t matter if she did like Miles Davis and Nancy Wilson, Daryl had no intention of getting taken for a ride again.
But then, he thought, she had said, “Nothing right now,” when he asked what she did for a living. Maybe that meant she was collecting on an accident or something. He was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. For right now.
They finished dinner and lingered a bit over coffee and tea.
“So, what happens next?” Sheila said.
Daryl studied her. “Well, we can go back to my place.”
She held up a hand. “Not so fast. We just met.”
He nodded. “Okay. You just passed the first test.”
Sheila raised an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”
“That probably didn’t come out right.”
“You bet it didn’t,” she said. “You’d better clean it up real quick.”
He grinned. “So I’m getting another chance.”
She flipped some of the hair off her shoulder, then folded her arms, waiting.
Daryl leaned forward. “We’re both adults here,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve had relationships where things didn’t exactly go the way you thought they might have.”
“This isn’t a relationship. We just met,” Sheila pointed out.
“And every first date is a test, so to speak. Both parties weigh the other person as they try to decide if there’s…” he shrugged. “You know.”
“Chemistry? A love connection?”
“Something like that.”
“And so where are we?” she asked.
“Well, seeing that I’ve just buried myself in a hole over here, I think we need to start over, don’t you think?”
She had to smile at that. “At least you recognize the error of your ways.”
He held her chair for her as she rose. They left the restaurant and walked a bit along the avenue. It was a nice night out. New York hummed with the life and energy that was found in few other cities. Despite the rocky points during dinner, neither one seemed ready to call it a night.
“I know a place where we can hear some music,” he suggested. “It’s an all-night joint. A little hole in the wall, really, but the sounds are worth it.”
Sheila glanced at her wrist a moment before remembering she’d decided to abandon her watches during this three-week vacation.
“Isn’t it kind of late?” A second later she realized that a party girl wouldn’t care about the late hour. Investment bankers who had early meetings and took work home over the weekends cared about that sort of thing. But for now, she wasn’t on the fast-track to a vice presidency. Right now, her feet were aching something fierce.
Sheila lifted a foot to relieve some of the pressure. It would be a long time before she put heels like these on again.
“It is late,” Daryl said. “And you’re doing that fidgeting that tells me you either need to go to the bathroom or your feet hurt.”
Sheila burst out laughing. She grabbed his arm for balance. “You must have a bunch of sisters or girlfriends.”
He led her to the curb, where he hailed a cab. “Both. Come on.” He held a door open for her and helped her in the cab.
“Whew!”
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
Daryl shut the door and leaned inside the window. “Take the lady home,” he said. “She has a date with some epsom salts.”
“For sure you’re right,” Sheila said, chuckling. “Thanks for a nice night.”
“Is there gonna be another one?” he asked. “It’s your call.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I passed your test.”
“Come on, cut me some slack. I’ll make that comment up to you.”
Car horns honked behind them. “Lady, we ain’t got all night here.”
“Just a sec,” she said. “You have a pen and a piece of paper?”
Shaking his head, the cab driver handed her a blank receipt and a ballpoint pen. Sheila scribbled her number on the back of the receipt and handed it out the window to Daryl.
“If you call me, I’ll go out with you again,” she said. “If you don’t, we’ll just chalk this night up to pleasant company.”
He smiled. “I’ll be calling.”
The driver signaled. Daryl stepped back and watched the cab disappear into the night traffic.