Love and Miss Communication (28 page)

“It makes me think of you. We had some great times together.” Jack squeezed her elbow gently and said, “I’ll e-mail you tomorrow,” as though it was obvious to both of them that they needed
to finish an important conversation. She was about to say “No, call me instead,” but Jack had already disappeared back into his office before she could formulate the response.

“Everything okay?” Edward asked when she returned. “I was getting worried about you.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry about that,” she said, draining her glass of Merlot and then winding her neck around to signal Tasha, who ambled over much too slowly.

“Tash, I need a refill,” she said, pointing to her drained glass. “Fast.”

“You got it, girl,” she said, and dashed off to the bar.

“So what in the world was that about?” Edward asked.

Here goes.

“Jack Kipling, the chef and owner of this restaurant,” Evie said, eyes fixed steadily on Edward’s face, “is my ex-boyfriend. We broke up last December. He’s married now.” She leaned in closer to him, so none of the busboys or the slippery sommelier could report to Jack what she was saying. “He’s the reason I disconnected myself from the Internet. I found his wedding photos on Facebook. He always told me he didn’t believe in marriage. It’s why we broke up. And then six months after our relationship ended, he was somebody else’s husband. I took it really hard. As you can see.”

“Wow,” Edward said, shifting in his chair. “I didn’t see that coming.” He absentmindedly returned the sourdough roll that he’d already buttered to the breadbasket.

“There’s more, actually,” Evie said. “That is, if you want to know.”

“Go on,” Edward said, reaching for his drink. The ice cubes clanked sharply against the glass as he lifted it, and Evie felt the sound was symbolic of her life cracking open before him—finally.

“I lost my job because of how much time I was spending online. My BlackBerry was basically stapled to my hand because of work—and then I got fired for sending too many e-mails. It was very hypocritical.” Even as she said it, she was barely convincing herself. Baker Smith wasn’t to blame for her addiction. The compulsion to stay connected, the fear of missing out, that was all her own. “Anyway, that was yet another sign I should go off-line.”

Edward nodded but didn’t say a word. She took that as a sign she should keep going and not hold back. The Baker Smith portion she believed Edward would be able to understand. The Jack part of the story—that worried her, so she treaded lightly.

“Anyway, I thought I knew Jack. We had two pretty wonderful years together. Frankly, I still don’t understand what made him come around on marriage, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe Zeynup’s some kind of sexual goddess or something.” Evie attempted a mood-lightening grin. “She looked quite limber in the photograph.”

“Zeynup?”

“Jack’s wife. She’s Turkish.”

“Listen, Evie, we’ve all got exes. You know I do. The only question is whether you still have feelings for him.”

At that moment, Tasha returned to refill their waters. Evie took advantage of the extra few seconds to collect her thoughts.

“I don’t,” Evie said with as much conviction as she could muster. She reached across the table for Edward’s hand. “Since our first date, I’ve been walking on cloud nine. You can’t even imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

“That’s all I need to hear,” Edward said, squeezing her hand. He started playfully twisting her cocktail ring around her finger, and Evie noticed that the contours of his frame had relaxed back into their natural posture.

“Of all restaurants for me to choose,” he went on, with a defeated chuckle. “There has to be—I don’t know—ten thousand to pick from in the city and we end up here.”

“Eighteen thousand actually,” sounded a voice from above their huddled faces.

“I hope you don’t mind but I’ve taken the liberty of serving you myself,” Jack said, setting a piping hot plate of roasted chicken with braised leeks in front of Edward. “Your branzino will be right out, Evie. I’ve prepared a special sauce for it that is still reducing. My sous-chef will bring it out in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Evie muttered, refusing eye contact. She couldn’t believe he was intruding like this. It seemed beneath the Jack she knew.

“I’m sorry about before, stealing your date like I did. Let me properly introduce myself,” Jack said, extending his hand to Edward. “Jack Kipling. And I understand you are Evie’s lucky companion for the evening.”

Companion?
Evie bristled. Jack’s phrasing made Edward sound like a paid escort.

“Edward Gold,” he said, returning the handshake. “Evie was just telling me about you.”

“Don’t believe a word,” Jack said, with a wicked smile. It was more a movie line than genuine dialogue, and it made Evie uncomfortable—the slickness of it all.

“So, Edward Gold, how do you pay the bills?” Jack asked, in a tone that suggested whatever he responded could not measure up to restaurateur.

“He’s a surgeon,” Evie intervened. “He cured Grandma Bette of cancer this year.”

“Well, I’m not sure I ‘cured’ her, but yes—I did remove her tumor,” Edward interjected, with infuriating modesty.

“Well done, chap,” Jack said, gingerly patting Edward on the back. A sinewy chef with a long, blond ponytail appeared and placed Evie’s plate in front of her. “Thanks, Arianna,” Jack said, addressing her in the tone he used with all his female staff: one-part condescending and two-parts flirtatious.

“Evie here has just agreed to redesign JAK. We’re going to discuss it further soon, I hope,” Jack said, gaze securely set on Evie as though Edward was not even at the table.

“Has she?” Edward asked, and Evie saw his shoulders creep up in tension again. She shook her head no but wasn’t sure either man noticed. Her voice box had quit on her.

Jack smiled innocently. “Well, I suppose we still have some details to iron out. But with her new business, I don’t see why this wouldn’t be a great opportunity.”

Evie leaned over her plate, hoping to disappear in the cloud of steam that was heading to the ceiling. No such luck.

“Well, let me allow you two to enjoy your meal in peace,” Jack said. “I have to drop by a lot of the tables tonight.” He gestured toward the restaurant, where every seat was occupied.

“Yes, and we’ve got a party to get to,” Evie said, desperate to keep pace with Jack.

“We do?” Edward asked, his look of annoyance surpassing his surprise.

“Yes, didn’t I mention it?” Evie said innocently. “Anyway, good-bye, Jack.”

“Happy new year, Evie,” he said, and brushed a light peck on her cheek. Extending his hand to Edward once again, he said, “Don’t let her get away.”

Like you did?
Evie was more than baffled.

“What was that about a party, Evie?” Edward asked when Jack was out of earshot.

“Oh, I was just trying to hurry him along,” Evie said, hoping to be convincing. She noticed Edward didn’t even ask her about redesigning JAK, or her so-called new business.

After Jack left their table, Evie and Edward’s dinner conversation wasn’t entirely mangled, but it lacked the natural quality it typically possessed. She answered too many of his statements with “uh-huh” and he barely showed his dimple. She tried not to worry too much about it. Outside of JAK, on neutral territory, she and Edward would return to their old ways.

For the next hour, while Evie and Edward worked their way through their main course and decadent servings of tiramisu and mille-feuille, Jack milled about the restaurant, shaking hands, lighting flambés, and toasting with patrons. Evie heard the people at the next table comment that it was already 11:00
P.M
. She wondered if and when Zeynup was going to appear. Where was she right now? Downing champagne with a gaggle of glamorous foreigners downtown? Would she be here to kiss Jack at midnight while the onlookers cheered? Evie would have liked to see this woman in the flesh. Sensing Jack was keeping an eye on her, Evie tousled her hair, sensuously brought her wineglass to her lips repeatedly, and throatily laughed until her neck hurt. She even uncharacteristically spooned her dessert into Edward’s mouth when she noticed Jack at the adjacent table. Edward didn’t seem to know what to make of Evie’s affections, and appeared to alternate between confusion, flattery, and concern.

“I think we should get going,” Edward said when their dessert
plates were cleared. She hadn’t noticed that he’d already paid the check. He gathered their coats and ushered Evie onto the street before she had a chance to protest their departure or spot Jack one last time.

Outside, the blast of cold air hit her face like a speeding truck. The streetlights looked like dripping paint, and she clutched Edward’s arm for support. The wine had gotten the best of her. By the time they made it into a taxi, she was slurring something about Dick Clark and his balls dropping.

With her forehead propped against her apartment door, Evie struggled to fit her key into the lock. Edward pried it from her determined fingers and easily opened the door. Evie truly didn’t know what would happen when they were inside. Would they consummate the relationship, the way she had expected to welcome the new year, or was the seismic shift that she was perceiving since they arrived at JAK a reality? She collapsed onto the couch and planted her head into a velvet throw pillow, unable to think straight. What a night.

“Where are the lights, Evie?” She could hear Edward tapping on her walls. There was, unless she was mistaken, a never-before-heard chill in his voice.

“To the right of the front door,” she mumbled. Maybe there was still a chance to turn the evening around. She could put on some music, slip into her favorite silver nightie, and take Edward to her bed.

“That’s where I am,” Edward said. She heard him swatting at the switch.

Evie slowly got to her feet. The journey from intoxicated to hungover had already begun. Boulder-size lumps had taken up residence in the back of her skull. Each of her muscles felt sluggish, as if on strike until the alcohol was purged from their surroundings.

She flicked the switch. Nothing happened. She tried it several times more, but the room remained a black canvas, save the sliver of light shed by her battery-operated clock.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. There’s another switch by the screen,” she said. “Next to the big photograph. Try that one.”

Right outside her bedroom hung a vintage photograph of the French singer Edith Piaf. Evie found it on a trip to Paris with Jack over a year ago, while they were browsing antique shops on the outskirts of the city. The vacation had proved a watershed moment in their relationship. At the outset, Evie had felt like her life could not get any better. Suspending what she knew in reality, she harbored a belief that Jack would propose in Paris. She visualized him dropping down on one knee at Versailles or the Eiffel Tower. She fantasized that Jack had been lying all along about his views on marriage just to take her even more by surprise when he produced a ring.

But by the day they entered the antique shop where she found the lovely black-and-white photograph of Edith Piaf, the trip was nearly over and Jack had not proposed. In fact, she’d even broached the topic a few times, carefully choosing her moments. She brought it up on a sunny day when they were strolling in the Tuileries eating ice-cream cones. And then again after an extraordinary performance on her part in the bedroom that had involved a striptease and a skillful blow job. But each time she spoke about their future, Jack rebuffed her coarsely, saying some variation of “Let’s just enjoy the trip.” Crushed, Evie was in a foul mood for the last leg, and when Jack went to pay for the Piaf photograph Evie pushed his hand away and insisted on paying for it herself.

“What’s the point?” she had said gruffly. “It’s not like we’re married.” Jack had simply slipped his wallet back into his pants pocket and said nothing while Evie whipped out her credit card.
She liked the picture too much to take it down, even though it resurrected painful memories.

“Nice photograph,” Edward called out.

Heart-wrenching is more like it, she thought.

“Evie, this isn’t working either. Maybe the building had a power outage,” he suggested.

“That must be it,” she said. She pressed the intercom button. “Are we having a blackout?”

“No, Miss Rosen. If we had lost electricity, then we wouldn’t be answering the intercom now.”

“Well my apartment is pitch-black so can you please send the super up? We want to watch the ball drop.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. He’s off,” the doorman said unsympathetically.

Edward came over and put his hand on her shoulder. “Evie, it’s okay. We’ll handle this tomorrow.”

We’ll handle this tomorrow. The words reverberated in her brain.

“What a nightmare,” she whined. It was 11:43
P.M
. She lit a candle by her bedside table, the words from Fiona Apple’s “Shadowboxer” echoing in her mind as she struck the match:
Once my flame and twice my burn.
God damn Jack. She reached for her flannel pajamas.

“Tomorrow, you’ll call up your electric company, find out what happened,” he said. “I’m sure it was an accident. It’s not like you don’t pay your bills.”

She thought about that for a moment, not able to remember the last time she had paid an electric bill.

“You’re right,” Evie said. “I think I need to go to sleep. Will you stay over with me?”

# # #

Morning hit her unapologetically. The sunlight streamed through her window with a mighty force, making it impossible to stay asleep and pretend the night before had never occurred. She took a good look at the man lying next to her in bed. Their first sleepover had definitely not gone according to plan.

Edward, in an undershirt and boxers, looked remarkably comfortable in her bed. Overnight the coarse hairs on his chin and above his upper lip had sprouted and the shadow made him look more brusque. Her mind immediately did a side-by-side comparison of him and Jack. Edward was more classically handsome, that was for sure, but Jack still had that certain something that she could never fully articulate, even to herself. She still couldn’t believe she saw him last night.

“Good morning,” Edward said, after she started stirring.

“Morning to you,” Evie said. There was something reassuring about his stillness in bed. If he was plotting his escape, she couldn’t tell.

“So, just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, I don’t have electricity, do I?” Evie asked.

Edward turned toward her and propped up his head in his hand, so they were mirror images of each other.

“I’m afraid not. I got up an hour ago and tried to make coffee and realized that an electric coffeemaker plus unrefrigerated milk poses a significant problem. So I went back to sleep.”

Evie moaned. Last night she hadn’t even thought about all the food in her refrigerator and freezer going bad. Fortunately only milk, frozen waffles, and a container of egg salad from Han’s Happy Deli were lost.