He tipped well and felt that everybody was winning in the
exchange--so what if he were spending all his money.
Candlelight gleamed from glasses and warmed the walls. The room was
formal and cozy at the same time. He ate slowly, feeling calm and
unburdened. He ordered espresso and Death By Chocolate, then lingered
over Courvoisier. Verdi was aggrieved when Oliver finally got home.
Oliver made a great fuss over feeding him and apologized for the
unforgivable delay. He climbed the stairs to bed in a warm swirl. The
next morning he was very thirsty.
Jacky was called away on business the following week. The week after
that, in her kitchen, when the moment came, Oliver looked into her eyes
and felt no impulse to surrender. She reacted immediately. "Not
tonight," she said. And then, "That's all right. It doesn't have to
happen every time." They chatted, and he carried her smile home across
the bridge. It was warm, a bit troubled.
The week after that, she asked if he would meet her for dinner. "Oh,
boy," he said.
"Let's go to one of _your_ places, for a change," she said. They agreed
on Alberta's.
Oliver was early. He sat by a window and sipped a glass of wine.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69