How horrible would sex be with a man who felt he had to perform to keep his job? Wham-bam, still got a job. He seemed to be very intelligent, and sometimes he glanced at her with a rather knowing expression that she found at once strangely frightening but also comforting in a man who was obviously new to this country. She wrestled within herself but she finally nodded. It was that knowing expression that gave her leave to pursue him without guilt. That night, though, aside from eating, drinking and conversing politely with him, she couldn’t do more, for Carol and John were guests, also. But next time. Next time they would be alone. Yes, and?
Though John’s hands were a little dirty and chapped and his broken fingernails only partly obscured black grease hiding beneath each one – a mechanic - Barbara had to admit that her friend had made a better choice in boyfriends than she usually did. He held his own at the dinner table and even regaled them with a few funny stories about his fellow employees.
But when Carol had finished her meal, taken a sip of wine and excused herself to the bathroom, John leaned forward and said, “I used to know someone who worked at your restaurant.”
“Oh? Who was that?” Barbara asked politely.
“He worked there a short time ago. Now that I think about it, your paths might have crossed. Mike.”
Barbara’s stomach tightened but she made a show of concentrating. She picked up her butter knife and rubbed at a non-existent spot. Obviously she remembered him. One doesn’t forget an embezzler very quickly. But John knew Mike? She lied, “No, no. I don’t remember him, John. But how did you know him?”
He responded, “He was my friend for most of my life.”
She looked baffled and her eyes sought help from Silvio. “No, I don’t remember him,” she repeated. No one spoke. The soft music seemed louder and less sexy.
John gritted his teeth. “Well, I—”
Carol appeared from Barbara’s bedroom. She looked curiously at all three. “Suddenly, I’m imagining three deer caught in headlights,” she laughed. “Hey, don’t stop on my account.” She set her purse down on the delicate tree bench by the front door.
Barbara exhaled. “We were just talking about…”
Looking at Barbara’s pale face, Silvio helped out though he probably knew nothing of what had transpired between Barbara and her guest. “What is account?”
Barbara eagerly picked up on that, “Account…account…” Her eyes widened, “She didn’t want us to stop because of her.”
“Then why say account?”
Carol laughed at that, “Oh Silvio. You’re so funny.” But John, with a disagreeable expression on his face, sat back and ignored his girlfriend’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Barbara stood and before her friend could sit down, reached for Silvio’s plate, hoping to give him a peek at her cleavage. Her eyes rose to his face but she was disappointed to see that he was in the process of refilling John’s wine glass. She sighed. “Carol, why don’t you help me in the kitchen, again?”
With a little reluctance, Carol answered, “Sure, sure Barb.” She stacked John’s and her dishes.
Once the women rounded the counter to the kitchen, Barbara hurriedly pulled down the louvered partition over the counter, pulled Carol to the far side of her kitchenette and asked in a whisper, “What’s the deal, Carol? Why’s John suddenly so angry? The mention of Mike’s name got him real riled.”
Carol shrugged and carried her dishes to the opposite counter. She shrugged again and began scraping the top dish. “I don’t know. Remember I was in the bathroom.”
“You should have seen him. I think he knows Mike real well and that subject was certainly sore.”
Carol concentrated. “He hasn’t mentioned him before. Maybe he knew him from high school.”
“He said most of his life. I wonder if he knows Mike went to jail.” Barbara suddenly looked worried, “Hey, take it easy on that plate. It’s my grandmother’s.” She took it from her klutzy friend. “Here, silly. Give me something to do!”
Carol dried her hands and turned toward the refrigerator. “Dessert?”
* * *
The conversation during dessert became painfully restrained. John pushed his empty plate away, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and stood rather energetically, saying, “Thanks for dinner,” and he ushered a confused Carol out the door.
Inwardly, Barbara relaxed though she tried to look concerned. “Woo,” she said after closing the door, “That was fast, don’t you think?”
Silvio poured himself a small glass of the merlot and sipped appreciatively. “In my country people eat long.”
“Yes, Carol usually does.” She looked in his eyes, “Much, much long.”
“So why did John not stay?”
“I think the mention of Mike put a damper on my dinner.”
“A damper?”
Barbara had forgotten who her companion was. “I’m sorry. Damper, um, not fun anymore.”
“Oh,” he said. “It is too bad. It was good party.”
Well, with them gone now I can concentrate on making it even better. Barbara gestured toward her living room. “Have a seat by the fire?”
He shook his handsome head and said unenthusiastically, “Thank you, no. It was good dinner but I go to City early.” He looked at her, about to say something else but instead exhaled and said, “I see you next day.
Barbara was disappointed and embarrassed but she said with a thin smile, “Tomorrow then.” She opened the door for Silvio who took a step out into the hallway but he turned. They stood unmoving, gazing into each other’s eyes. How she longed to pull him back inside! By the look in his eyes, he probably wouldn’t have complained.
She broke their gaze. “Well, goodnight. Thanks for coming.” And she closed the door. She said to the settee, “If I were Carol, he’d be sitting beside me on you about now…but I’m not.”
It took an hour of tossing and turning but Barbara finally fell asleep. Her familiar sexy, and quite frustrating, dream greeted her once more.
Chapter 13
One last touch before Barbara left for work, the touch that made her, her. She reached for the $800 bottle of Clive Christian No.1 perfume that she had sprung for three years ago at Cartier’s in Boston (she used most of her first paycheck when she worked for an insurance firm). But it wasn’t where she had placed it - to the right of her mirror atop her dresser. Nor was it in the bathroom on either side of the sink. She placed both hands on her hips. “Now, where did you go?” She rifled through every drawer of her bureau and bent to search under her furniture, but the expensive little bottle was missing, as had her beautiful crystal atomizer with her second-favorite, and more affordable scent, Tiffany, just the week before. Either she was unknowingly rearranging her toiletries or she was going crazy. She settled for dabbing some Chanel #5 behind her ears instead.
* * *
By the time she parked outside Fiore, Barbara had forgotten her misplaced perfume. But once inside the side door to the restaurant she knew something was wrong there. Immediately her ears perked up at a sound coming from the office. It was 7:30 a.m. and usually no one else, not even Carlos, arrived for another hour. She tiptoed down the short hall and placed her ear against the door. She narrowed her eyes in concentration. Papers were rustling. Her chair squeaked. Now she’d know who— Suddenly the door opened and Barbara fell against Carol, who was more shocked than she.
“What were you doing in there?”
The