acts and mental illness, in one form or another, pervades my entire family. Some of those stories are true, but I hope you didn’t believe him when he said he taught James Dean how to golf.’
‘I thought it was Dean Martin.’ He set the tray on the table set with a pink tablecloth, a milk glass citronella lantern, and eating utensils. ‘Now this is very pretty, romantic, like Valentine’s Day.’
Caroline waited for her neck to overheat, for heat to flood her face, for that flopping-fish feeling to return. It had been a mistake to string petite lights on her side of the ivy. They lined the edge of the covered area above the table, ran along the support beams and glowed like tiny white stars, romantic stars. ‘Yeah. Here we are with the wrong kind of mood lighting.’ She made a face and handed him a napkin. ‘Maybe since I thought were asking me out this afternoon, I unconsciously considered this a date.’
‘Well, then I better not disappoint your subconscious and get your chair.’ He pulled out a chair for her.
With a louder than necessary nervous laugh, she sat, and he pushed her closer to the table. ‘Are you flirting with me, William?’ She put a napkin in her lap.
‘Maybe a little. Isn’t that what you do on first dates?’ He removed his jacket, draped it over a chair, sat across from her, and passed her the green palak paneer.
‘I thought you were supposed to remember your manners, you know, not fart or burp, or get spinach in your teeth.’
He spooned reddish-orange tikka masala onto his plate. ‘I’ll discreetly, with my very fine manners, let you know if you have anything in your teeth.’ With a grin, Will got to work eating the Indian food. She ate three pieces of cauliflower, a hunk of paneer, and a spoonful of dhal. He ate everything else.
Batman lay content in a little basket just inside the kitchen, near the open French doors. As they ate, they chatted about food and local restaurants. Before long, the conversation turned to the get-to-know-your-neighbor stuff.
She asked, ‘Do you work downtown, William?’
He poured himself more of wine and refilled her glass. ‘M-hm, in the Collins Building, more or less around the corner from you, a few blocks west.’
‘Do you always drive to work, or do you take public transport?’
‘It depends on the weather. Occasionally I catch the bus, or take the L. Sometimes my boss picks me up or sends a car. Now and then I ride my bike.’
‘And I thought I would be the fitness freak of the complex. So who’s the motorcycle idiot in the building?’
Will laughed. ‘I would be that idiot. When I said bike, I didn’t mean bicycle. Mind if I ask why you think my bike’s idiotic? Or is it just you find anyone who rides motorcycles idiotic?’
‘Uhh … never mind the spinach, is there much foot stuck on my teeth?’
‘No offense taken,’ he grinned. ‘What is it that bothers you about the motorcycle? I’d like to know. I’m curious.’
Caroline glanced at him over the wine glass she’d picked up to hide behind. ‘They scare me. I can’t stand the noise they make. Isn’t there a way to muffle the muffler on them?’
‘You realize that’s part of the appeal? Chicks dig that sound, and the black leather too.’
‘I can’t picture a man in a suit like yours ever putting on leather pants.’
‘The day I met you I was wearing my leathers.’
‘I don’t really remember you in leather anything. I tend to recall funny things about people, like the color of your hair, the chocolate milk on your shoes, or the Heuer Monaco you’re wearing.’ Her eyes flicked to his wrist, ‘It’s the kind of watch Steve McQueen used to wear.’
‘I love Steve McQueen. He was so cool.’
He mouth pursed. ‘Well, that sort of explains your motorcycle. You’re exceptionally well dressed. Not only do you have excellent taste in clothes and Indian food, you also have this sort of quiet elegance about you. What are you, a Steve McQueen-loving,
‘I thought it was Dean Martin.’ He set the tray on the table set with a pink tablecloth, a milk glass citronella lantern, and eating utensils. ‘Now this is very pretty, romantic, like Valentine’s Day.’
Caroline waited for her neck to overheat, for heat to flood her face, for that flopping-fish feeling to return. It had been a mistake to string petite lights on her side of the ivy. They lined the edge of the covered area above the table, ran along the support beams and glowed like tiny white stars, romantic stars. ‘Yeah. Here we are with the wrong kind of mood lighting.’ She made a face and handed him a napkin. ‘Maybe since I thought were asking me out this afternoon, I unconsciously considered this a date.’
‘Well, then I better not disappoint your subconscious and get your chair.’ He pulled out a chair for her.
With a louder than necessary nervous laugh, she sat, and he pushed her closer to the table. ‘Are you flirting with me, William?’ She put a napkin in her lap.
‘Maybe a little. Isn’t that what you do on first dates?’ He removed his jacket, draped it over a chair, sat across from her, and passed her the green palak paneer.
‘I thought you were supposed to remember your manners, you know, not fart or burp, or get spinach in your teeth.’
He spooned reddish-orange tikka masala onto his plate. ‘I’ll discreetly, with my very fine manners, let you know if you have anything in your teeth.’ With a grin, Will got to work eating the Indian food. She ate three pieces of cauliflower, a hunk of paneer, and a spoonful of dhal. He ate everything else.
Batman lay content in a little basket just inside the kitchen, near the open French doors. As they ate, they chatted about food and local restaurants. Before long, the conversation turned to the get-to-know-your-neighbor stuff.
She asked, ‘Do you work downtown, William?’
He poured himself more of wine and refilled her glass. ‘M-hm, in the Collins Building, more or less around the corner from you, a few blocks west.’
‘Do you always drive to work, or do you take public transport?’
‘It depends on the weather. Occasionally I catch the bus, or take the L. Sometimes my boss picks me up or sends a car. Now and then I ride my bike.’
‘And I thought I would be the fitness freak of the complex. So who’s the motorcycle idiot in the building?’
Will laughed. ‘I would be that idiot. When I said bike, I didn’t mean bicycle. Mind if I ask why you think my bike’s idiotic? Or is it just you find anyone who rides motorcycles idiotic?’
‘Uhh … never mind the spinach, is there much foot stuck on my teeth?’
‘No offense taken,’ he grinned. ‘What is it that bothers you about the motorcycle? I’d like to know. I’m curious.’
Caroline glanced at him over the wine glass she’d picked up to hide behind. ‘They scare me. I can’t stand the noise they make. Isn’t there a way to muffle the muffler on them?’
‘You realize that’s part of the appeal? Chicks dig that sound, and the black leather too.’
‘I can’t picture a man in a suit like yours ever putting on leather pants.’
‘The day I met you I was wearing my leathers.’
‘I don’t really remember you in leather anything. I tend to recall funny things about people, like the color of your hair, the chocolate milk on your shoes, or the Heuer Monaco you’re wearing.’ Her eyes flicked to his wrist, ‘It’s the kind of watch Steve McQueen used to wear.’
‘I love Steve McQueen. He was so cool.’
He mouth pursed. ‘Well, that sort of explains your motorcycle. You’re exceptionally well dressed. Not only do you have excellent taste in clothes and Indian food, you also have this sort of quiet elegance about you. What are you, a Steve McQueen-loving,
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