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ONE BENEFIT OF LIVING apart from my husband was that date nights felt special. Tonight, Donnie was planning to cook a gourmet Italian meal for the two of us, and I was looking forward to it.
I wore a retro-styled red dress with three-quarter sleeves, a deep V-neck, and a flattering A-line skirt cut to guide the eye past my burgeoning hips. While the silhouette was mid-twentieth century, the dress was made of a decidedly twenty-first century stretch fabric, which was the reason I could still squeeze myself into it. On the way out of my house, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and sighed. The dress was so tight I was ready to pop out of it, and it was too late to go back and change. I really had to lose some weight. Maybe Donnie would be so busy cooking that he wouldn’t notice my dress was two sizes too small.
Unfortunately, he did notice. When I walked into the kitchen, he looked up from the stove and stared. His eyes traveled slowly down to my fishnet-stocking-clad feet and back up again. Only a sudden, frantic sizzling drew his attention back to the pan he was holding.
“You look great.” He focused on pouring liquid into the pan and unsticking something from the bottom. “Sorry, I’m kind of chained to the stove right now.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment. Can I help?”
“No, no. Sit. Keep me company. I just opened a bottle.”
I sat at the kitchen counter, where I could watch Donnie’s deltoids and latissimus dorsi working through his silk shirt as he cooked. He’d set a wine glass out for me on the counter, next to the uncorked bottle. I poured a glass.
“So where’s Davison tonight?”
“He went out earlier with that girl, Crystal. Seems like they’re really getting along.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, I hope it doesn’t cause a problem when he has to go back to school.”
I took a sip of wine and sighed with contentment. Funny what a treat it was being down here at Donnie’s house, as long as I could think of myself as a visitor and not a permanent resident. Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here. What was wrong with me, that I felt this way about spending time with my own husband? I adored Donnie, so what was my problem? My mother often accused me of having commitment issues. Well, maybe I did, but come on, no one chooses to have commitment issues, so really, whose fault was it, Mom? She also liked to say I blamed everyone but myself for my problems.
“So, you and Davison have a nice time at dinner last night? I never got to hear what happened.”
Donnie was doing his best to ignore the previous night’s unpleasantness between us. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Donnie, I’m sorry I was so cranky. Dinner was stressful. We all had to be polite to that awful Randy Randolph, all because there’s a chance he might cough up some Seed Solutions money for the university. And then getting that letter about the negative vote on my tenure application was the last straw. And you know what? I think Randy Randolph killed Primo Nordmann.”
“You think so?” Donnie spoke over his shoulder in a sort of sideways direction. It was hard to hear him over the sizzling sounds, which filled the kitchen, along with heavenly aromas of tomato, garlic, wine, and mushrooms.
“I don’t know about means and opportunity, but he sure had motive,” I continued. “You didn’t see the last post Primo put up on his website, documenting all of Randolph’s shortcomings and failures.”
“I know Randolph didn’t make a very good impression on Davison. I heard him complaining to his girlfriend on the phone. The guy really got under his skin. Funny, both of you had a negative reaction to him. I never saw it. He’s always seemed fine to me. Until that incident when he cut in front of us yesterday.”
“He knows exactly what he can get away with.” I took another sip.
“Well, the donor dinner’s over now. Neither of you needs to spend any more time with him.”
Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to tell Donnie that I was planning to visit Randy Randolph’s apartment on Monday.
“I think the guy’s a sociopath,” I said.
“I guess I should be glad you and Davison agree on something.”
“When does Davison go back? Doesn’t his school term start Monday?”
“It does. But he couldn’t get a flight. He’s on a waiting list for something later next week. He might even be able to stay here for his birthday. He says he’s worked it all out with his professors.”
“A couple of years ago, I remember you talking about Vegas for Davison’s twenty-first birthday. Have your plans changed?”
“He’s not interested in Vegas anymore.” Donnie splashed some liquid into the pan so it sizzled and spattered. “Good thing, too. You ask me, gambling’s a waste of money.”
I started to feel warm and relaxed from the wine. And brave.
“Donnie, why did you really have to go to the library last night?”
“I told you. I had to look up some information.” He turned off the stove, arranged the pasta on two oversized white plates, and carried them out to the dining room table.
I got up and picked up my glass and the bottle of Sangiovese.
“You went to the library to look up some information is like saying you went shopping to procure some merchandise.”
Donnie laughed, and deftly changed the subject. “Normally, I wouldn’t use shiitake mushrooms in an Italian dish. I thought I’d take a chance and try it. Tell me what you think.”