lame-ass excuse would not be a sufficient justification for his lack of a call.
He really didn’t know why he hadn’t called her.
“Fine. I’m hungry and you should feed me proper. What’s your status?” she asked.
“Lucky for you, I’m down by Tommy Bahama’s on Newbury Street, picking up a Christmas present. When can you meet me at Stephanie’s?” asked Sarge.
“Are you buying something for your sailor-boy brother?” she asked as her innate seventh sense of shopping kicked in.
“No, are you kidding? He’d tie me to a line and drop anchor if I bought him something from there. Besides, he’s working this month. This is for a Harvard buddy. So, are you on your way yet?” asked Sarge, trying to deflect attention from the previous interrogatory.
“Yes, sir,” she stretched out her response. “Private Julia Hawthorne will report to Stephanie’s at eighteen hundred hours!”
“Well done, Private—first class, out!” added Sarge with emphasis.
This worked out well , thought Sarge. He had been meaning to call Julia and, in fact, missed her company. Sarge—the buyer—hopped up the stairs through the cast-iron rails with a new sense of purpose—besides the acquisition of a Tommy Bahama XXL Jungle Jingle camp shirt.
Chapter 7
December 15, 2015
Newbury Street
Boston, Massachusetts
Stepping out of Tommy Bahama’s, Sarge caught a last glimpse of the setting sun, watching as the gas lanterns took over the responsibility of illuminating Newbury Street. Ambling down the wide sidewalk, under a canopy of leafless trees, he safely stored Jungle Jingle and its signature marlin-emblazoned Tommy Bahama bag into the car.
Briskly walking to Stephanie’s, his thoughts returned to Julia. Their relationship was complicated. Convoluted may be more descriptive. The two were close—in a “friends with benefits” sort of way—yet there had never been the slightest hint of taking it to the level of dating, much less marriage. In a sense, their side work cast a cloud of doubt over the possibility of a long-term relationship. The Quinns do it, Julia had whispered into his ear on more than one intimate occasion. That was true, but their roles were different, insulating their family from certain risks.
It pained Sarge to keep her at a distance. Julia was an incredible woman. She’d attended the prestigious Boston University School of Journalism, which would have made their ancestors proud. The families of George Peabody and Nathaniel Hawthorne shared an ancestral background dating back to the Founding Fathers—a particular badge of honor in Boston. They also shared a sense that their destinies were predetermined. This unease didn’t prevent them from being intimate or working together, but it did give them reason to hold back from a more permanent union.
Approaching Stephanie’s, he saw Julia’s town car pull up to the valet stand in front of the restaurant. Not waiting for the driver, Julia emerged from the car—one long leg after another. Julia was incredibly beautiful and impeccably appointed. Christian Louboutin shoes, Hermes Birkin JPG bag designed by Jean Paul Gaultier, Stella McCartney trench coat, and a variety of glistening baubles. She drew the instant attention of men and women alike wherever she appeared.
“Yo, Adrian,” bellowed Sarge, in his best Rocky Balboa voice.
“You are so full of it, Rocky, or Bullwinkle, whichever you choose,” said Julia laughingly, presenting her cheek to Sarge for a proper kiss.
Sarge observed the driver, who seemed to enjoy the playful banter between the couple, smiling at them as he dutifully shut the back door. Maybe they should give it —the couple thing—a try.
“C’mon, I’m powerful hungry,” said Sarge, befitting Stephanie’s reputation for offering sophisticated comfort food.
During milder weather, the wrought-iron enclosed outdoor dining café was packed with locals and tourists alike. Located at the corner of Exeter and Newbury,
He really didn’t know why he hadn’t called her.
“Fine. I’m hungry and you should feed me proper. What’s your status?” she asked.
“Lucky for you, I’m down by Tommy Bahama’s on Newbury Street, picking up a Christmas present. When can you meet me at Stephanie’s?” asked Sarge.
“Are you buying something for your sailor-boy brother?” she asked as her innate seventh sense of shopping kicked in.
“No, are you kidding? He’d tie me to a line and drop anchor if I bought him something from there. Besides, he’s working this month. This is for a Harvard buddy. So, are you on your way yet?” asked Sarge, trying to deflect attention from the previous interrogatory.
“Yes, sir,” she stretched out her response. “Private Julia Hawthorne will report to Stephanie’s at eighteen hundred hours!”
“Well done, Private—first class, out!” added Sarge with emphasis.
This worked out well , thought Sarge. He had been meaning to call Julia and, in fact, missed her company. Sarge—the buyer—hopped up the stairs through the cast-iron rails with a new sense of purpose—besides the acquisition of a Tommy Bahama XXL Jungle Jingle camp shirt.
Chapter 7
December 15, 2015
Newbury Street
Boston, Massachusetts
Stepping out of Tommy Bahama’s, Sarge caught a last glimpse of the setting sun, watching as the gas lanterns took over the responsibility of illuminating Newbury Street. Ambling down the wide sidewalk, under a canopy of leafless trees, he safely stored Jungle Jingle and its signature marlin-emblazoned Tommy Bahama bag into the car.
Briskly walking to Stephanie’s, his thoughts returned to Julia. Their relationship was complicated. Convoluted may be more descriptive. The two were close—in a “friends with benefits” sort of way—yet there had never been the slightest hint of taking it to the level of dating, much less marriage. In a sense, their side work cast a cloud of doubt over the possibility of a long-term relationship. The Quinns do it, Julia had whispered into his ear on more than one intimate occasion. That was true, but their roles were different, insulating their family from certain risks.
It pained Sarge to keep her at a distance. Julia was an incredible woman. She’d attended the prestigious Boston University School of Journalism, which would have made their ancestors proud. The families of George Peabody and Nathaniel Hawthorne shared an ancestral background dating back to the Founding Fathers—a particular badge of honor in Boston. They also shared a sense that their destinies were predetermined. This unease didn’t prevent them from being intimate or working together, but it did give them reason to hold back from a more permanent union.
Approaching Stephanie’s, he saw Julia’s town car pull up to the valet stand in front of the restaurant. Not waiting for the driver, Julia emerged from the car—one long leg after another. Julia was incredibly beautiful and impeccably appointed. Christian Louboutin shoes, Hermes Birkin JPG bag designed by Jean Paul Gaultier, Stella McCartney trench coat, and a variety of glistening baubles. She drew the instant attention of men and women alike wherever she appeared.
“Yo, Adrian,” bellowed Sarge, in his best Rocky Balboa voice.
“You are so full of it, Rocky, or Bullwinkle, whichever you choose,” said Julia laughingly, presenting her cheek to Sarge for a proper kiss.
Sarge observed the driver, who seemed to enjoy the playful banter between the couple, smiling at them as he dutifully shut the back door. Maybe they should give it —the couple thing—a try.
“C’mon, I’m powerful hungry,” said Sarge, befitting Stephanie’s reputation for offering sophisticated comfort food.
During milder weather, the wrought-iron enclosed outdoor dining café was packed with locals and tourists alike. Located at the corner of Exeter and Newbury,
Similar Books
