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To Erica’s surprise, the next hour and a half flew by. A mood of ease and light-heartedness seemed to have settled around them as Sherman recounted one humorous anecdote after another, sending his audience into fits of laughter. And Monica, Erica discovered, when released from the self-imposed pressure of being the perfect hostess, had a wit of her own.
At eleven-thirty, Monica caught herself yawning and apologized profusely. “I’m sorry, Erica. I don’t know what’s come over me. And we’ve been having such a lovely time.”
Jason put an arm around his stepmother’s shoulders. “Of course, you’re tired. You’ve been on your feet all day preparing this divine dinner, and now you’re completely bushed.”
Was he overdoing the considerate act, or was she being less than kind? Jason had behaved himself for the second part of the evening. He’d said little, but remained attentive to Erica’s comfort. Did she want more brandy? Was she comfortable with the window open?
Monica yawned again, but this time she laughed. “I suppose you’re right, Jason. It’s been a busy day.”
“I don’t want to keep you up,” Erica said quickly. “Could you please drive me home, Jason?” She turned to her old friend who, by virtue of his recent kind behavior, was back in her good graces.
“Sure enough, Ricky,” he said obligingly. “I’ll get your sweater.”
She hugged Sherman and Monica, and thanked them for their hospitality, her small painting tucked discreetly under her arm. Though she was pleased that the evening had ended on a relaxed and friendly note, she was eager to get home.
“It was our pleasure to have you,” Sherman repeated.
He and Monica walked her to the front door where Jason was waiting. He helped her with her cardigan, leaving a friendly arm around her shoulders as they stepped outside.
The night was cool, the sky full of stars.
He drew a deep breath. “Beautiful out, isn’t it? We even have Dad’s Cadillac at our disposal since mine’s in the shop.”
His words sent a chill down her back.
She pulled the sweater tightly around her shoulders. “What’s wrong with your car?”
Silly, she told herself. She’d seen his car after Terry’s accident. Had been inside it twice, in fact, when Jason had driven her to the morgue, and that awful evening they’d gone out.
Or had they used Monica’s red car, now parked two feet away? She couldn’t remember. But Jason’s car had been at the duck pond yesterday. Sherman had as much as admitted Jason had followed her there.
Before she could sort any of it out, he said, “I brought it in for a lube and an oil change, and a new muffler. It won’t be ready until Monday afternoon.”
His response sounded offhand. No false note that she could detect.
He opened the passenger door, and she stepped inside. “Dad thinks I’m crazy to put any money into it.” He walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “He says I should get a new car for my new image, but I’m too attached to the old Buick.” He gave a little laugh. “Besides, Tough Tony tells me she has two good years left, and he sure as hell knows what he’s talking about.”
“Who’s Tough Tony?”
He switched on the motor before he answered. “Dad discovered him years ago, at the gas station near his office. The man’s seventy-five if he’s a day. Dad says what goes on under the hood of a car is as plain to him as the back of his hand. And he can fix anything. The old buzzard’s sparse with words. Acts like they’re pieces of gold.”
“Where did he get a name like that?”
He shrugged. “Probably from his younger days, when he was in a different line of work. I think he spent a few years in prison.”
I bet he did, she thought grimly. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he once worked for Doug’s boss.
To divert her thoughts from ex-convicts and cars needing repairs, she asked the first question that popped into her head. “How can you buy a new car? I thought you were low on funds.”
He laughed easily as he swung onto the turnpike. “Technically, I am. But that’s about to change. Dad’s lined up three interviews for me. By this time next week, I should be gainfully employed.”
Impulsively, she squeezed his hand. “Oh, Jase, I’m really glad for you.”
They stopped at a red light, and he turned to face her. “It just shows how your life can change for the better when you least expect it. I came back here because of your husband’s accident.”
She winced at the reference to Terry’s death, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Though I was getting pretty lonesome out at Montauk, wasting my time on that dumb play. Coming home to Manordale turned out to be the right move.”
The light turned green, and the Cadillac rode smoothly on its way. “And I began to see Dad in a new light. Not as the stuffed shirt I’d been fighting all my life. More like a mentor. A counselor. Someone who really cares about me.”
Good God, she thought in amazement. I can’t believe this is Jason Hartley, extolling the virtues of his father. The same father who ridiculed him and chipped away at his self-confidence all those years. For a moment, she wondered if Jason was pulling her leg. If he was simply making use of his father and his connections.
A glance at his face told her he’d meant every word he was saying.
She reflected back on the evening. Jason and Sherman had shown nothing but a cordial respect for each other. Still, something was fishy. The change in their relationship had come about too suddenly. Too quickly. What really was the basis of it all?
“And,” Jason said, interrupting her thoughts, “Dad’s right. It’s about time I stopped bumming around like an adolescent kid. I never told you, Erica, but I got involved in some bad deals a while back. Had a few close calls with some nasty people.”
She tried to remember exactly what Doug had said about Jason, when he turned to give her a warm smile.
“But I’m through with all that now. I promise.”
When he reached for her hand, she pulled free of his clasp. Something was very wrong. Why was he treating her like a date? Again.
After a minute of silence, he said, “Did you know that for years I was jealous of you?”
“Me? What could you possibly have been jealous of?”
“You always had drive. Knew exactly what you were going to do. I’ll never forget the day you told me—no, announced—you were going to become an accountant. A CPA, no less. So you’d be able to earn money and be independent.” His smile turned crafty. “But you never became an accountant, did you? Just an office girl for some little magazine.”
“Office girl?” she bristled. “I was a senior editor, and wrote plenty of articles. And it was no little magazine, I’ll have you know.”
“What I know is you never could become an accountant. It’s too boring and monotonous. And doesn’t suit your fiery temper.”
“Fiery?” she sputtered. “I don’t have a fiery temper!”
“‘I don’t have a fiery temper!’” he imitated, then burst out laughing.
His laughter was infectious. Before she knew it, she was laughing along with him.
He slapped her knee. “That’s more like the old Erica I used to know.”
“And that’s the old Jason coming through,” she quipped back.
They drove along in relaxed silence until he spoke again. "Don't take this the wrong way, but your mad dash out to Montauk was like something out of a movie. It was so dramatic—the way you told me, in no uncertain terms, I’d better lend you twenty thousand dollars to pay off your husband’s debt or else.”
And you’re letting me know you resent me for it, and always will, she thought, then marveled how this bit of insight hadn’t occurred to her on her own. He had every right to be angry. She bit her lip in embarrassment, remembering how she’d threatened to tell Sherman about Jason’s driving accident all those years ago if he refused to lend her the money. Heat spread across her face. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
He seemed to take her silence as a reproach for having brought up the subject of her dead husband. A wistful note crept into his voice. “I hope someday I’ll have someone as loyal in my corner. You were as fierce as a tigress—eyes flashing behind those oversized glasses, your hair blowing every which way as you paced and turned. You were totally devastating.”
“Devastating?” she chortled, regaining her composure. “I was frantic and worried and upset. I only did what I thought I had to.” When she spoke again, her tone was contrite. “I’m terribly sorry for behaving in such a high-handed manner. It just occurred to me how downright nasty it was for you on the receiving end.”
“Forget it, Ricky. I’ve done a few obnoxious things myself. Let’s be friends again.” He patted her hand.
This time she didn’t pull away.
“Agreed.” She sighed and relaxed deeper into the cushioned seat. It was nice having Jason back on her side.
The Cadillac hummed along with the light flow of traffic. When she glanced out her window, she was surprised to see they had long since passed the turn to her house.
“Hey, Jase, forget where I live? We’re at least a mile past Redwood Lane.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I thought you were having a good time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since it’s so early, I thought we’d stop someplace for a drink. To celebrate your birthday properly.”
“I’m tired and I’d like to go home. I thought the games were over and we were friends again.”
“I’m sorry, Erica,” his voice came out muffled. “It was damn selfish of me to think that you would... Forget it! I’ll turn around and take you home.”
He sounded so sad and forlorn, she was moved in spite of herself. “Is something wrong?”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. When she repeated the question, he nodded.
“I thought, since we were friends again, we could talk like we used to.”
“About what?”
He drove slower. “Lately, I’m feeling kind of jittery, and I haven’t been sleeping well. I suppose it’s all these changes. Those interviews Dad’s arranged. They’re with firms he represents. It was great of him to set it all up. I appreciate it and all. But...”
“But?” she prodded.
Silence.
When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “I don’t know if I can handle it.” He swung into the left-hand lane, intent on turning back.
She touched his arm. “Let’s go for that drink, Jason, talk about your interviews and things.”
“Do you mean it?”
His relief and gratitude were apparent. She felt a pang of sadness. Same old Jason. He still needed a sympathetic ear, someone to bolster his faltering ego.
“Of course, Jason. That’s what friends are for.”
He continued heading down the turnpike. Seemingly encouraged by her change of heart, he told her of the three positions for which he’d interview, thanks to Sherman’s arrangements.
“Which do you think would suit me best?”
She bit her lip as she thought. “It’s difficult to say. The marketing research job sounds interesting. It’s something I would like. But maybe you’d prefer writing copy in an ad office. Or go for the excitement of Wall Street. You’ll get a better sense of each company at the interview.”
She warmed to her subject, glad to be able to offer him practical advice. “Meanwhile, channel your nervousness and put it to good use. Google each company, then ask them questions based on what you’ve learned. They’ll be impressed that you bothered to do your homework.”
When he made no comment, she stared at his profile, trying to fathom what was going through his mind. In the dim light, she noted his face was drawn, his brow wrinkled.
Finally, he spoke, in a voice drained of all emotion. “Yeah, I know all that.”
“Sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean to suggest that you didn’t.”
Damn, she hadn’t meant to get carried away. But it was more than that. Her intuition told her something was wrong.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just...”
Again, he stopped, and she had to encourage him. “It’s just what, Jason?”
“Just that I don’t know what the hell I’m getting myself into. It all sounded so great the way Dad put it—having a job with a prestige firm, buying a condo. Vacations, a new car.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can hack working in an office all day, five days a week. Two, three weeks off for vacation. Wearing a jacket and slacks all the time. It’s too much to ask of me.”
She let out a sigh of exasperation. Here he was, twenty-seven years old, with no more ambition than a house cat. “You have to settle down some day. It may as well be now.”
He opened his mouth—to make a sarcastic comment, she would bet—but he closed it again without speaking. They drove on in silence, him clearly bristling under her disapproval.
She stared at the road ahead of her, regretting she’d agreed to extend the evening. And where was he taking her? She wished he would finally stop so they could have this drink and get it over with.
Finally, to break the heavy silence, she asked where they were going.
“I thought Fiorello’s, unless you have an objection.”
“Fiorello’s!” she shrieked. Why did he have to pick the place where she’d gone with Doug?
“What’s wrong with Fiorello’s?” he asked defensively. “You haven’t been there in years. The new owners did a nice job of redecorating. In fact, the bar’s the most popular singles place around, especially on weekends.”
“I thought it was a restaurant. And I couldn’t see going there after that enormous dinner we’ve eaten.”
“For your information, they make the best drinks east of Manhattan.” His voice was sullen. “But if you don’t want to go there for some strange, weird, mysterious reason—”
“No, no!” she protested, not wanting a hassle. “Fiorello’s is just fine.”
About fifteen cars were parked in the lot behind the restaurant. None of them a blue BMW, she was quick to notice. He kept his hand under her elbow as they walked toward the rear entrance. Though she didn’t care for his proprietary gesture, she decided not to make a fuss and went along compliantly.
The atmosphere was exactly as she remembered—the lighting turned low, romantic music playing softly in the background. The same maître d’ approached.
Jason told him they wanted to sit at the bar.
Here I go again, she thought. Same restaurant, same dress, different man.
The long room was even darker than the restaurant. A dozen or so young people sat on stools along the bar, chatting or watching a comedy show on the huge TV. The small round tables nearby stood empty, though most of the booths along the back wall were occupied. In one, a man and a woman were locked in a passionate embrace.
Erica stifled a groan. She hoped Jason wasn’t thinking this was another “date” he’d arranged.
Two brassy-looking twenty-something women stopped their conversation to eye Jason as they walked by. He appraised the women in turn.
“The unlucky ones,” he said dismissively, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Nobody wanted them tonight.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t settle for what was available,” she cracked back.
They sat down in a booth.
“Is that what you plan to do?” Jason asked maliciously. “Go to bars to meet men? Oh, I almost forgot,” he said in mock surprise. “In three days, you’ll be a rich woman. You won’t have to come to places like this. You’ll be flying off to Monte Carlo or Paris or Dubai.” He laughed unpleasantly. “But I bet one place is the same as the next when you're man-hunting.”
She stiffened. She opened her mouth, but no words came forth.
He had turned on her again, becoming nasty and sardonic without provocation. She hadn’t seen this side of him until very recently. Well, she sure as hell didn’t have to hang around for insults and abuse. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she rose to her feet. But before she could speak, he grabbed her hand and started babbling an apology.
“Don’t go, Erica. Please stay. I’m sorry. Damned sorry I’ve been saying such stupid things. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m nervous and jittery and taking it out on you.”
The waiter appeared, a smile plastered on his tired face. “Good evening, folks. What can I get you?”
“A vodka martini for me,” Jason said, “and a glass of chardonnay for the lady.” He turned to her. “Right?”
She sighed audibly and sat down. Jason! He was impossible. But he had apologized, and there was no reason to make an issue of it.
The waiter turned to go.
Jason called after him. “Please see that the wine glass is well chilled for the love of my life.” He looked at her, a gloating smile on his lips.
His arrogance had her fuming with fury. “I’m not your love!” she snapped. “You’re not even my friend! I know you set those boys on me in the park. You’re damn lucky I didn’t tell Doug. He has quite a temper.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “So I noticed. It was a dumb thing to do. I just don’t want to see you getting mixed up with another gambler. I do care about you, you know.”
When she gave no answer, he reached inside his shirt pocket and took out a pill.
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Not that again.”
He swallowed the pill without water, then smiled. “Don’t be silly. I don’t take anything stronger than aspirin these days. I’m just a little edgy since I got back from Montauk, and having trouble sleeping. I told you, remember?”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You’re acting weird. What’s really bothering you?”
Their drinks arrived, and Jason took a hearty gulp of his martini. “Everything I told you before—my new future, stuff like that.” He spoke mockingly as he reached out to cover her hand with his. “And I’m afraid of letting Dad down.”
“What do you mean, letting him down?” She struggled to extricate her hand, but his grip held it firmly beneath his own. “Let go of me, Jason,” she said between clenched teeth.
“What? Oh, sorry, Erica. I didn’t mean to hold you prisoner.”
“Well, you sure as hell tried.”
“I mean,” he went on as though nothing had happened, “Dad seems so happy that I’m showing an interest in getting a job. He sees me as some sort of business manager or executive in five years. All I can see is having to prove myself to some insensitive clod who will probably swagger around the office, making sure I know just how important and powerful he is.”
He swallowed the rest of his drink, then raised his hand to catch the waiter’s attention.
“The clod might be a ‘she’,” Erica murmured.
When the waiter hurried over, Jason ordered another martini. He turned back to her. “What did you say?”
“Never mind. And I wish you’d calm down. Going on a few interviews doesn’t require all this boozing and pill popping.”
He ignored her comment. He drummed his fingers on the table, apparently lost in his own thoughts.
Then, he turned to her abruptly. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
She laughed. “Why should I? You know I don’t smoke, and you don’t, either. Besides, you can’t smoke in here.”
“I’ll go get some. Be right back.”
He sprang from his seat. When he returned, he was inhaling and coughing simultaneously. He almost collided with the waiter, who was placing Jason’s drink on the table.
The older man moved quickly out of his way, and asked Jason to put out the cigarette.
She was growing alarmed. “Jason, calm down. You’re acting like a nut.”
He slid into the booth. He snuffed out his cigarette, then guzzled half his drink.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, beginning to really worry. “It’s not just the interviews. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
He reached inside his jacket and placed a tiny square box on the table. He swallowed a chestful of air, then gazed into her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and mournful.
“Erica,” he implored. “Will you marry me?”