Bad Boy (30 page)

“Eat?” she said. “Of course I eat.”

“Can you tell me if you’ll eat with me?”

She smiled back at him. “Of course I’ll eat with you.”

And afterward, you’ll kiss me and then
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probably sleep with me, too, he thought hopefully. Jon grinned. This was a lot more interesting than Parsifal.

“Where?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” he said, and she laughed. “If I told you that, they’d find me and they’d kill me.”

“Don’t you hate that when it happens?” she asked, and he realized she was flirting with him. Ah, flirting. He looked Carole over. She was funnier than Sam, and probably funnier than Ruth would be. And she was very, very lovely. But not quite as lovely as he’d remembered.

Jon was at a corner table at Vito’s on Ninth and Madison with Ruth, the mountain climber. The room was dimly lighted and candles burned in tiny glass lamps at each table. He had just led her up to his obligatory drama/secret/I’ve-told-only-you story. “What happened?” Ruth asked breathlessly.

“I was a twin,” he said. “But my brother killed himself. I was better at school, better at sports, better with girls. To me, it was never a contest, but I guess he just couldn’t . . . compete. I always felt responsible.” He paused for a moment, surprised to actually feel a bit of the pain of his lost imaginary twin. He shrugged. “Well, since then, I just don’t get frightened.”

“Really?” Ruth said, and he could see the sympathy blossom across her face.

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When their chubby blond waitress approached the table, Jon stopped her from taking away his plate by putting his hand on her elbow. “Doesn’t she have the most beautiful eyes?” he asked Ruth.

Jon leaned back against the banquette. He had gotten a corner booth at Java, The Hut, but he wasn’t alone, waiting for Tracie. He was with Doris, the Asian-American waitress he’d met while out with Samantha. “What happened?” the girl asked him, as if her total existence depended on his next words.

“We were fooling around at target practice,” he told her. “I’m a great shot, and he dared me to shoot a cigarette out of his mouth. You know, even though I was only fourteen and he was my dad, I said no. He got belligerent, but even so, I said no.” He took out a Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost Pez, and offered it to her as if it was the Legion of Honor. Jon continued, “Then he bragged to all the guys, his pals, about my aim and bet them I could do it. It was a big pot. After he shot his mouth off like that . . . well, I had to try . . . and I shot his mouth off. Literally. It was an accident, of course.” He sighed deeply. “But I always felt responsible. Since then, I just don’t get frightened.” He heaved another deep sigh, then turned his head toward the window, as if his dad was out there in the dark parking lot.

Molly came up to the table to give them their
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dinners. After she slid the hot plate across the table and handed each of them a plate, Jon grabbed her hand. He looked up into Molly’s face. “Doesn’t she have the most beautiful eyes?” he asked his date.

Tracie sat at her desk, grumpy and resentful. She should be working, but since the morning editorial meeting, she’d lost all motivation. Instead of beginning a new draft, she picked up the phone and dialed Jon. She hadn’t heard from him in days. Not only was she curious as to what was going on with him, but she needed to vent.

Nobody was as good to complain to as Jon. Laura only made jokes and tried to cheer her up. Phil tried to distract her. But Jon knew how to empathize.

Even before Tom Brokaw had written
The Greatest Generation,
Tracie had been deeply fascinated by Pearl Harbor and World War II. Her mother’s father had died in the Pacific, and her paternal grandfather had served there. One of the few things she’d enjoyed in Encino were visits from Papa, and each time she’d ask him for stories from the long-ago war. So it came
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as a deeply unpleasant shock when, at that morning’s meeting, Marcus had assigned a follow-up piece about local World War II vets to Allison.

“Marcus, I’m prepared to cover that. I have some material I didn’t use in my Memorial Day story,” Tracie had said.

“Thank you for that spirit of volunteerism and cooperation,” Marcus had told her, “but I feel certain Allison will be able to meet the challenge.”

It was so unfair. Tracie had been stuck with a lot of stupid topics for almost a year, and now a story that held real interest had been wrested from her. Her disappointment was so sharp that she couldn’t even look at Allison without imagining what Marcus had made her do to get the assignment. In the meeting, Allison had glanced over at her, shrugged her shoulders, and given her a sorry-what-can-I-do? smile. Tracie would have enjoyed wiping the smile off her face with steel wool and a little muriatic acid. To add insult to injury, Marcus had assigned her a Father’s Day feature. As if she didn’t have a serious father issue, along with most of America. “Can I do deadbeat dads?” she’d asked, but Marcus had merely laughed dismissively.

She lifted the phone and punched in the Micro/Con number again. Not only was Jon still not available, but his voice mail was full and Tracie couldn’t even leave a message.

“Have you heard from Jonny?” Beth asked from the doorway.

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Startled, Tracie looked up. “No,” she snapped. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Oooh,” Beth cooed as she stepped away. “I guess it’s best not to speak to you until the end of the day.”

Tracie could hardly believe that Beth seemed to shrug off Tracie’s mood as she went back to her cubicle. Usually, she was good for at least half an hour of obsessive pestering. Tracie was getting so tired of Beth’s inquiries about Jon that she wished she’d never set them up together. How was I to know that it would go this far? Tracie asked herself. But with any luck, the whole situation would go away soon.

At least she’d made progress with the makeover article. It needed a good rewrite and an ending, but she thought it was funny and pithy, and even the photos looked good. She wondered if she had the courage to send the draft to
Seattle Magazine.
Then she thought big. They had seemed interested. Why not try
Esquire
? She had never been published in a national magazine. She knew she ought to look at some magazines and see who was on their masthead and what they were publishing.

Which reminded her: She’d finally gotten another appointment with Stefan, and if she didn’t leave soon, she wouldn’t be there in time for the haircut she so desperately needed.

Screw Marcus, Allison, and the
Times.
She’d be taking a long lunch today.

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Music blared in the shop as Laura, with her hair in a hundred strips of aluminum foil, waited for her process to work. Meanwhile, Tracie was finally getting her hair cut by Stefan. “Not too short,” Tracie instructed him. Stefan had granted a special dispensation and was allowing Laura to watch him while her hair was being processed.

“I know,” Stefan said. “Never too short.” He sighed heavily, as if he was tired of every hair on every head in Seattle. Tracie hoped he wasn’t in a bad mood. Stefan in a bad mood was not a good thing. “How is your little experiment vorking?” Stefan asked, and for a moment, she didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about. Then Stefan continued: “He’s some cute cookie boy.” Tracie knew he was talking about Jon. “He vas in two days ago. I liked the blue. It vorked on him,” Stefan said.

“Jon was in?” Tracie asked. “Jon came in here by himself?”

“Yes, two days ago,” Stefan told her.

Tracie could hardly believe it. First of all, Jon had gotten a haircut just recently, and second . . . “How did he get an appointment before me?” she asked.

Stefan smiled, not at her, but to himself. He shrugged. Tracie just managed to catch the movement from the corner of her eye. “He is most persuasive, your cookie boy.”

Laura giggled. “Cookie Boy?” she asked.
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“That’s worse than Kissy Face. Do you really call him that?”

“No,” Tracie snapped. “The only thing I’ve called him lately is ungrateful.”

Tracie couldn’t believe he’d made an appointment. Nor could she believe he had time for things like that but had no time to call her. Just then, the door opened and Beth, her hair plastered to her head in some kind of mud pack of color, stuck her head into the all-white sanctum, then walked in.

“No interruptions,” Stefan said, holding up his scissors hand.

“Not too short,” Tracie reminded him. “Beth, what are you doing here?” How many people could ditch work without the
Times
shutting down, and could they all be here? Was Allison getting a facial while Sara had a pedicure and Marcus got a perm?

Beth ignored Stefan and walked over. “Obviously, I’m not having root canal.” She smiled. It was a big cheery smile. Tracie braced herself for the next question, sure to be about Jon, but Beth merely took a seat on the floor.

“No spectators, please,” Stefan said, brandishing his scissors and then taking another snip off the top. Tracie looked nervously from Laura to Beth. If he was taking off too much, they would tell her. At least she hoped they would. Calm yourself, she thought. Stefan is the only man in Seattle you can truly trust. That’s why you come here, put up with his idiosyncrasies, and pay his outrageous price. But she wished she had a mirror.

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“Beth, you better go,” she told her friend nervously.

“That’s okay,” Beth said. “Stefan doesn’t really mind.”

“So, how is job on Cookie going now?” Stefan asked.

“Just great. Almost too great,” Tracie told him. “My friend Jon needed a lot of help, but he’s looking good.”

“Way too good,” Beth agreed.

“You can be too rich or too thin, but you can’t look too good,” Stefan intoned.

“He’s right.” Beth groaned.

“I thought you hated him,” Tracie told her. “Isn’t he the guy who never calls you back?”

“He called me back just after I talked to you,” Beth said with a triumphant but guilty little smile. “That’s why I’m here. It’s an emergency.”

“I hope you told him to stick it,” Tracie said, but she felt her heart dropping in her chest, because if Jon had called, and if he’d asked her out, Beth was going to go.

“I told him I’d love to see him tonight,” Beth gushed.

“Tonight? He didn’t call you for days and then he asks you out for tonight and you say yes? You are hopeless,” Tracie told her.

“I figured it out,” she said. “Jonny’s a very sensitive guy. I just think he’s afraid he felt too much for me. It scared him.”

Tracie and Laura exchanged a look. Behind Beth’s back, Laura rolled her eyes.

“He was afraid of his feelings. It happens with guys.”

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“Beth, sweetie,” Tracie said in a kind voice, “you didn’t scare him.”

“Please vould the psychology convention convene at the university? Or in the insane asylum? Just not here. No speaking here,” Stefan said firmly.

Beth paid no attention. “You know, he’s just traumatized because of his brother’s death,” Beth told Tracie.

“What brother? Jon
‌
—Jonny’s an only child,” Tracie said.

“No,” Beth said, shaking her head. “He doesn’t like to talk about it. Except to me.”

“Oh God!” Tracie groaned.

Laura rolled her eyes again and snorted. Tracie couldn’t believe it. She’d taught him that trick
‌
—to come up with something dramatic
‌
—but that he’d actually done it, and succeeded! Even with Beth
‌
—not exactly a polygraph.

“What?” Beth asked, staring at Tracie. “Oh, don’t be hurt. A lot of guys will confide things in me that they don’t tell anyone else.” She waved. “I gotta go. I don’t want to be late for him.”

“Get out of here,” Stefan said, and Tracie didn’t know if this was in response to Beth’s comment or if he was trying to maintain creative control.

She ran out of the room, and Stefan, with a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan, took two more snips at Tracie’s hair.

Laura squinted her eyes and shrugged, then pointed wordlessly to Tracie’s head. Tracie
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felt a tug of terror. “Remember, not too short, okay?” Tracie told Stefan again. “Isn’t that unbelievable about Beth?” she said to Laura.

“Oh, yeah, that’ll keep her going for another three months of obsessing,” Laura said. “But I have to say, I think I’m over Peter.”

“Great!” Tracie exclaimed.

“And I think I want to stay here in Seattle.” She paused. “I’m looking for an apartment.”

“Terrific!” Tracie told her, and she meant it.

“Yeah. I figured that would be good news,” Laura said. “I’ve been a pain in the ass with my moping. Plus, I know it’s been a strain to have me at your place. I know I’m kinda getting in the way of your thing with Phil,” she added.

Tracie shook her head to say no, then heard Stefan’s quick intake of breath and realized she had moved at a critical moment. “Sorry,” she said to Stefan. “No problem,” she told Laura, but Tracie felt guilty, since she’d so recently thought the same thing.

“I know you didn’t mean to have me move in permanently . . .”

“You’re always welcome,” Tracie said.

“In my country, ve say guests, like fish, stink in three days,” Stefan said, and took another slice at her hair.

“So anyway, I can’t afford a place without a job, and I can’t set up as a caterer without capital, but they need a cook at a brunch place and
‌
—”

“You got a job?” Tracie asked, surprised and delighted.

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“Yeah. I talked to the owner. It’s a done deal.”

“Do I get a discount if I go there?” Tracie asked.

“No, but as an incentive, I promise I won’t spit in your food,” Laura assured her.

“Great!” Tracie said. She tried to put her hand up to her ears to see if they were still covered, but Stefan hissed and pushed her hands away.

“Well, congratulations.” For a while, they sat in silence except for the ominous sound of Stefan’s scissors. “I really can’t believe Beth,” Tracie said after a moment or two to break the silence. “How could she have said yes to Jon after he’d dissed her so badly?”