“So that’s your story, huh?” the Target asked, picking up her menu. “Black eye by old lady?”
Frankie gave me a look.
I smiled sheepishly at the Target. “Actually, no. I was at the gym earlier. I do some boxing and some guy got in a lucky shot.”
“You box?” Frankie said, surprised.
“Been boxing since I was a kid. You know that,” I told her. She was a lousy con.
“Right. Sorry. I didn’t realize you still did it.”
I nodded. “When work allows me to get away.”
“Oh, I know how that is. I was in meetings all day.”
“What do you do, Rosalyn?” Frankie asked.
“Mostly I just head up some of my father’s foundations and causes. I wanted to go to law school, but my father needed me.” She shrugged.
“Not me. I hated school. College sounded like torture. Of course, now I’m stuck in a job that’s like torture so I guess I traded one for the other.”
“There has to be something you want to do that wouldn’t be torture. What is it?”
I knew I should interrupt their conversation, swing it in my favor, captivate the Target’s attention, but I kind of wanted to hear the answer.
Frankie’s cheeks turned pink. “I kind of like to bake.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. I should have known it involved sugar.
“Yum, what’s your favorite thing to make?”
“Cupcakes,” she replied. “But it’s just a hobby.”
“Have you ever been to the Iced Princess?” Rosalyn asked.
Frankie’s eyes lit up. “That is my favorite place ever.”
“What’s the Iced Princess?” I asked.
“This ultra-fabulous cupcakery about an hour or so away.”
Frankie nodded. “There’s nowhere else like it.”
The two ladies launched into some discussion about cupcakes and pink and I totally tuned out. I was about to change the subject when someone walked in front of the window by our table.
All the air in my lungs seemed to disappear.
It was the same girl from the other night. From the charity ball.
Long blond hair, willowy figure. She was alone, her hands stuffed into a royal-blue coat. As I watched, she stopped walking, directly in front of our window and pulled a beeping phone out of her pocket. She glanced at the screen and smiled—I knew that smile—and glanced up.
Our eyes connected.
Hers were green.
My body jerked like it had been shocked and my mouth went bone dry.
The woman turned away and started walking again. I craned my neck to watch her until she disappeared from sight.
“Charming, are you okay?” Frankie was looking at me with a funny look on her face.
I cleared my throat, glancing at her hand, which was resting on my forearm. The Target was watching me as well. “I’m fine. I thought I recognized that woman, but then I realized I was wrong.”
“Some people just have those faces,” the Target was saying. “You know the kind that everyone thinks they know.”
Frankie agreed with her and removed her hand from my arm. I kind of wished she’d left it there another moment. It made me feel grounded. That looked just like her.
It wasn’t. And I wasn’t going to do this. Not now. Not here. I finally had my chance to get in with the Target and I wasn’t going to let anything blow it for me.
The waiter came around and took out orders and then came back with drinks all around. After that I tried to keep the conversation about the Target, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to appear interested but also maybe learn something about her that could be useful.
Frankie kept butting her big mouth in to talk about shoes, celebrities, and TV shows.
“Speaking of clothes,” Rosalyn said, turning away from me to look directly at Frankie. “I loved the gown you were wearing at the ball. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, there is this great little vintage shop downtown. Not many people know about it.”
“We should go!” the Target exclaimed.
The two made plans to go shopping that weekend and I couldn’t help but feel like Frankie was trying to move in on my Target.
When Rosalyn got up to use the ladies room, I leaned in close. “Quit being nice,” I growled in her ear.
She made a face. “Not everyone has the disposition of a turd like you do.”
“When she comes back to the table, we’re going to tell her that I am not gay. You’re going to play the worried sister.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenged.
“I’m going to show up at your apartment every day at six a.m. and pound on your door.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Rosalyn slid back into the booth. “Hey, so what did I miss?”
We both looked up and smiled. “Actually, Frankie here had something she wanted to tell you.”
The Target turned to Frankie.
Just then the waiter appeared with our pizzas. Talk about the worst timing ever. He handed out the food and then picked up a pitcher of water to refill our glasses.
As he reached for my glass, someone bumped him from behind and about half the pitcher went pouring into my lap.
I jerked up immediately, brushing the ice and water off my pants. But it didn’t matter. They were soaked.
Frankie sat there and giggled while Rosalyn handed me her napkin, her lips twitching.
“Very funny,” I said, trying to control my temper and not verbally assault the waiter who stood there staring at me open mouthed.
“Oh, dude, I am so sorry. I must have slipped,” he said. Dude? What kind of talk was that for a waiter to use?
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, then excused myself and went to the men’s room where I would, oh, I don’t know, punch something.
As soon as I went into the bathroom, the door burst open behind me. I turned around to see the waiter drag the huge trashcan in front of the door.
What the hell?
“Ah, man you should have seen the look on your face!” he said.
“What?”
“Sorry about your pants,” he said, looking down at the huge stain that made it look like I peed myself. A laugh slipped from between his lips. “Dex would have loved to see that.”
Dex? How did he know about Dex?
“It’s me, man. Storm.”
“Storm?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I really needed to talk to you and I didn’t know how else to get your attention in the middle of the restaurant.”
“You have a body now?” I asked, trying to understand. “And why don’t you have a black ring around yourself?”