CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Things were a lot cheerier in Atlanta as Marika and I sat in her house Thursday morning , planning a shopping trip. She wanted to know in detail what Bram and I were planning for our date, was it just dinner, or would we go hear music afterward or perhaps see a movie? Maybe we’d go dancing? “Because all of that factors in,” she explained.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if we’re going someplace fancy or someplace traditional or someplace trendy—although, this being Bram, I would rule out the really marbro.”

“The what? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would.”

She waved an impatient hand; too many other things to worry about. “If I’m guessing right, all you’ve ever worn around this guy are your dumpy let’s-just-throw-some-clothes-on outfits so that you feel comfortable. So we might want to spice it up with bright colors just for a change.”

“Dumpy! My clothes are fine—”

“Sure, if you’re going to walk the dog.”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t dress like a zydeco girl every time I walk out the door—”

“A what? Who have you been talking to?”

“That one came from Domenic.”

She waved this away, too. “Whatever. I’m thinking red.”

“Sure, I like red, but an elegant cut. Oh, and I need one of those jewel insets,” I added, laying my finger at the corner of my mouth. “A ruby.”

I said it just to make her jump, but she frowned and tilted her head to one side. “You know, your face is so austere that I think it would add just the right touch.”

“I was kidding.”

“You can buy temporary ones. They last a week.”

My eyes opened wide. “Really? Then I gotta get one.”

She jumped up. “Me, too. Let’s go.”

My suspicion was that Bordeaux had acquired both her tattoos and her insets at a backroom parlor next to a drug paraphernalia shop a few blocks from campus, but of course that was not the kind of establishment I would enter under Marika’s care. The Peachtree Promenade was an upscale shopping and commercial district that catered to the very wealthy and the ultra fashionable. Discreet doors opened onto face-and-body spas, hair removal clinics, cosmetic enhancement emporiums, personal trainer gymnasiums, hair salons, haute couturiers, and other establishments I could not even name. More prominently located were boutiques, galleries, shoe stores, and tailors’ shops where most of the hardcore buying took place—and the cafés, ice cream parlors, and fern-filled restaurants where shoppers could recruit their strength for a few more hours in the determined pursuit of beauty.

“Are you sure I can afford anything here?” I asked Marika as we stepped from the ivy-covered teleport booth onto the well-maintained sidewalks that snaked through the promenade.

“You’re working for Duncan Phillips. You can afford whatever you want.”

We started by looking at clothes. I exaggerate only slightly when I say we must have considered five hundred dresses before we found the perfect one. It was closely fitted on top and full-skirted on the bottom, made from a moire silk in haughty crimson. We accessorized it with a black silk shawl and shiny black heels, even though I complained that I didn’t want new shoes. The next stop was a nail salon so I could get a manicure in a polish that matched the dress. Marika insisted I get a pedicure as well, “just in case you end up taking your shoes off.” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, but I meekly did as she commanded.

After a light lunch, we made our final stop at the Jewels to You salon, where a handsome young man discussed all our options at self-enhancement through precious stones. By the time he was done with his spiel, I was almost tempted to throw caution to the winds and go for the real gems permanently grafted on, but we stuck with our original plan and opted for temporary adornments.

Once we were settled into adjacent chairs, our “body technician” explained what type of glue he was about to use, how long it would hold, how we could dissolve the adhesive earlier if we wished, and what discount we would receive if we returned within a month either for a new temporary bond or a more permanent one.

As Bram had suggested, I selected a small, brilliantly faceted ruby and had it set a quarter of an inch from the left corner of my mouth. Marika chose a yellow topaz to go at the edge of her right eye. Once the jewels were applied, we had to sit in our chairs for thirty minutes without speaking. I’d have thought that would be a challenge for Marika, generally so restless, but she remained absolutely motionless for the requisite period of time. She can sacrifice anything, even conversation, for the sake of fashion.

We were both delighted with our results, however. We stood before the mirror for a good fifteen minutes, uttering exclamations of delight and turning our heads from side to side to better view our enhancements.

“You know, I might actually have to come back and have this done permanently,” Marika said.

“Live with it a week first,” I advised. “You might not like it as much as you do right now.”

“I think I will.”

“Yeah, I think I will too.”

We capped off the decadence of the day by stopping for rich chocolate desserts at a fancy patisserie. By this time, it was late afternoon and I was worn out. After promising to call Marika as soon as I got in Friday night (“or Saturday morning,” she added), I left her at the teleport gate and zoomed on over to Olympic Stadium. A couple more quick jumps, and I was home. It could not have been a better day.

*

I was still delighted, but somewhat embarrassed, the following day when I had to start facing friends and family members with my new beauty mark in place. The little ruby seemed garish as a spotlight, and my investment in it silly and out of character.

Francis said nothing when he greeted me at the door, though I was convinced he was mentally shaking his head at my lapse of taste. I pretended I didn’t notice. “Bordeaux said she was arriving separately,” I told him, “so you can just bring her up when she gets here.”

“She’s already in Quentin’s room,” he said.

“Oh. Well. Good. We can get started right away, then.”

But Bordeaux, unlike Francis, could not refrain from making an immediate comment on my bright new accessory. “Hey, look who’s setting fashion trends,” she said, coming close to get a good look. “Spicy job, Taylor. Looks great with your skin color.”

I put a hand self-consciously to my face. “It’s temporary,” I said quickly. “Just for fun.”

“Yeah, that’s how I started,” she said. “But once you’ve paid good money for a real diamond, you start thinking, ‘And I’m just gonna paste this on? I don’t think so.’ I started sleeping a lot better once I had the grafts.”

“I want to live with it a while before I make a decision like that,” I said.

“I think it looks very nice, Taylor,” Quentin said politely.

When Dennis arrived as the hour drew to a close, he was even more enthusiastic.

“Aren’t you the raving beauty?” he said, drawing me over to the window to admire the jewel in sunlight. “Aren’t you just the most fashionable girl ever? Who would have expected it of our staid Ms. Kendall?”

“It’s just temporary.”

“Isn’t that how Bordeaux started?” he asked.

I turned away from the window. “Oh—you’ve met her already?”

Bordeaux nodded. “Hi, Dennis.”

“Yes, we’ve all fallen madly in love with her in the past two weeks,” he replied. “Francis said, ‘Now we mustn’t forget that our first loyalty to any woman should go to Taylor,’ and Bram said, ‘Taylor who?’”

“I’m glad to see you’re back in your usual high spirits,” I said, ignoring a tiny stab of jealousy. It had been fun being the only girl in this all-male household. “Last time I saw you, you were a little down.”

“All is well again, sweetie, but thanks for noticing.” Always one to avoid talking about his personal life, Dennis turned immediately to the room at large. “Who wants to swim? Bordeaux, are you staying?”

“You bet.”

“Taylor?”

“Can’t,” I said. “I’ve got plans tonight, so I’ve got to get home and change clothes.”

“What kind of plans?” Dennis asked, his face so innocent that I realized he knew exactly what my plans were. Bram didn’t seem like the type to gossip about the women in his life, so I had to assume he had asked Dennis for a list of possible restaurants, and Dennis had guessed the rest.

“Dinner with a friend,” I said, my face just as guileless as his. “I sure hope we have a good time.”

Bordeaux looked over, intuitive enough to sense something in the air, but Quentin was completely oblivious. “Okay, well, see you Tuesday, Taylor,” he said. “And I really do like your ruby. It makes you look marbro.”

“And so young,” Dennis murmured, ushering me to the door.

Francis was waiting when we stepped into the hallway, and he escorted me to the portal when the others headed for the pool. He waited until they were out of earshot to say, “Bram regrets that he can’t drive you home, as he had hoped, but says he will fulfill his other obligations to you as detailed.”

I bit my lip, but the smile came anyway. “I can’t believe that’s exactly how he phrased it.”

Francis was having trouble keeping his own smile in check. “I understand, some evening engagement,” he said. “He mentioned a time frame of seven o’clock.”

So much for keeping secrets in this house. “Where are we going, do you know that, too?”

“I believe Dennis was able to supply some advice on that subject, if you were wanting some advance information. I rarely dine out, so my recommendations in this instance would have been virtually useless.”

We had reached the gate by this time, and I turned to give him a warm smile. “We trust you on so many other points that this is hardly something to hold against you.”

He inclined his head majestically in thanks. “And while we are exchanging compliments, may I say the jewel inset is quite lovely.”

“It’s temporary.”

“Nonetheless. I hope you have a wonderful time tonight, jewels and all.”

I waited until I had been beamed back to my neighborhood, but then I started laughing so hard I didn’t think I would stop by seven o’clock.

*

I was so nervous by 6:45 that I could neither sit still nor continue primping, so I paced restlessly through the apartment. Marika called four times while I was getting ready, so I finally warned her that I was deactivating my EarFone and wouldn’t turn it on again until Saturday. I don’t know if she believed me or not, but I did turn it off, and subsequently calmed down.

When the doorbell sounded, my heart leapt up so painfully that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. What was this all about? It wasn’t like I was going on a blind date. This was a guy I knew and liked, which was why I was spending the evening with him in the first place. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my drifting skirt, and answered the door.

Bram stood there, dressed all in black and looking darkly handsome. He had gotten a recent haircut, which emphasized the starkness of his bones, and even his thin, strict mustache looked freshly trimmed. But there was nothing severe about the smile on his face or the approval in his eyes.

“Even better than I hoped,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself.”

“Dennis helped me dress.”

“And why exactly did you tell everyone in the house that we had plans tonight?”

He grinned. “I didn’t. I asked Dennis for some recommendations, and he said, ‘Oh, good, you’re finally going out with Taylor.’ And then he turned to Francis and said, ‘Did you hear? Bram and Taylor have a date.’”

“And you said, ‘What makes you think it’s Taylor?’”

“I did. And he said, ‘Because she’s the only woman you’ve even spoken to in ten years.’ Which isn’t true,” Bram added, “but at this point there didn’t seem to be any reason to correct him. I hope you don’t mind.”

I turned my hands palm-up. “They’re like brothers. I try not to give Dennis any ammunition, but other than that—of course I don’t mind.”

“Anyway, if you don’t like the restaurant, you can blame Dennis.”

“Where are we going?”

He smiled. “Secret. Are you ready?”

I grabbed the black shawl and draped it over my shoulders. This being Chicago, even in June, I’d probably freeze before the night was over, but I wasn’t about to ruin the ensemble with a jacket. “Ready.”

I was surprised, once we stepped outside, to find that his Mustang was nowhere in sight. He set off at a brisk walk in the direction of the teleport door. “Not so fast,” I said. “I’m not used to heels.”

“But you look good in them.”

“Thank you again.”

There was no line at the neighborhood gate, and Bram stepped back to let me go first. “And I code for?” I asked.

“O’Hare.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A foreign destination?”

“Oh, no. It’s domestic. See you there.”

A few minutes later, we had regrouped at the teleport terminal and were strolling around the big hub. I loved O’Hare on a weekend night. During the day, it was crammed with business travelers rushing to conferences and sales appointments; on weekend days, it was filled with vacationers wearing brightly colored shirts and ragged cotton shorts, heading off to fun-filled locations. But on Friday and Saturday nights, coming to O’Hare was like sauntering through Times Square. The older women were dressed in black gowns and ropes of diamonds, the younger women wore form-fitting gauzy dresses and crystal jewels around their throats. The men wore black tuxedos and brightly starched white shirts, or neat suits and shiny loafers. Where were they going? The New York Metropolitan Opera? The Berlin Orchestra? The Moscow Ballet? London’s West End? It was such a pageantry of excess and opulence, of arrogance and wealth, but it appealed to me in a fairytale way.

And now I too was one of the beautiful people about to be whisked away to an exotic location with an attractive man.

“I would make you cover your eyes, but that doesn’t seem practical,” Bram said. “Here we are.”

Here was the city gate for Lahaina. I felt my face go childlike with wonder. “We’re going to Hawaii for dinner! Oh, Bram, how delightful!”

“Have you ever been there?”

“On a couple of day trips with Marika. We loved it.”

“Good. We have reservations in about twenty minutes, so I hope this line moves quickly.”

There were maybe thirty people ahead of us, most dressed more casually than we were, and one or two balancing surfboards against their hips, but indeed the line moved rapidly. Again, Bram allowed me to go first, though he insisted on paying for my trip with his thumb-chip pressed against the sensor, and merely said, “Wait for me there.”

Lahaina International isn’t much to wax ecstatic over. It’s a small, very white, very crowded teleport terminal always crammed with more people than it was designed to hold. Not the best introduction to the relaxed and magical world of Hawaii, I always thought. Within seconds, Bram appeared beside me, then guided me to the local gate that I assumed Dennis had specified. Another quick jump, and I was stepping from the portal into the dazzling sunshine and jostling crowds of Front Street.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of that scented air, full of ocean and orchids and coconut oil. I guessed it was about 2:30 in the afternoon here, though my stomach still said, “Eat dinner! Eat dinner now!” I wondered if Bram had thought about the time difference when he made the reservations.

By his look of astonishment when he stepped out of the gate, I realized he hadn’t. I couldn’t keep myself from giggling, though I tried to muffle the sound with one corner of my black shawl. A sheepish smile came to his own face.

“I guess our dinner reservations are in about five hours. What was I thinking?”

“This is too funny,” I said. “The exact same thing happened to Marika and me the first time we came here. We wanted to get an early start, so we teleported over at eight in the morning. From Atlanta. So there was a six-hour time difference. It was two in the morning here.”

He moved into the constant stream of human traffic, and I fell in step beside him. “What did you do?”

“Well, of course, every bar on Front Street was still open, so we had a couple beers. Then we found a tour bus going up to Haleakala to see the sunrise, so we bought tickets and rode on up. It ended up being a great day by the time it was all done.”

“So do you feel like killing five hours till dinner, or do you want to go back to Chicago?”

“Oh, I want to stay!” I exclaimed. “But I’m starving. Let’s say I buy you lunch, and then we just walk around for a while, or take a tour, and then we go for dinner.”

“You realize it will be three in the morning before we get home.”

I gave him a challenging look. “And you don’t think you can stay awake that long? You’re not that old.”

He reached for my arm to pull me out of the way of a couple of tourists who were each pushing baby strollers. Then his fingers slid down my bare skin and he caught my hand in his. “I’m just looking out for your welfare. Don’t want your mom to worry.”

I smiled. “Let’s get lunch.”

We ended up at an outdoor café that featured a soup and salad bar, and I went back about five times to get another plateful of fruit. Bram watched in amazement as I bit into my sixth or seventh slice of fresh pineapple.

“You’re going to have acid burns all over the roof of your mouth,” he said.

“People are always amazed at how much pineapple I can eat,” I said. “And strawberries. That’s what I’d live on if I could.”

“I gotta have meat.”

“Well, protein’s important too.”

We didn’t linger at the meal, and soon we were cruising down Front Street again. We didn’t find much except tacky little tourist shops selling ships made of seashells and sand dollars painted with ocean scenes. So much of Lahaina is relatively new, since the city had to be rebuilt after devastating wildfires some years back. The bright paint and shiny surfaces make an odd contrast to the air of ancient mystery that hangs over the rest of the islands. I could sense Bram getting restless.

“Want to go to the beach?” he asked.

So we teleported over to Waikiki. I stripped off my new shoes and stuffed them into a plastic bag that I begged from a merchant selling seashell jewelry. Hand-in-hand again, we walked on the fine sand at the edge of the restless ocean. The crimson skirt drifted just above the waves and swirled around my calves; the fitted bodice lay cool against my skin. My hand seemed small and slight in Bram’s. I loved the feeling.

“Let’s bring Quentin here someday,” I said.

“Not a bad idea. Have to make sure it’s a time when he’s pretty healthy, though.”

“They have doctors here. We could plan ahead. He’d love it.”

“Maybe come for a few days. Get a hotel room so he’d have a place to rest when he was feeling tired.”

“Bring Dennis,” I said with a smile. “And Francis.”

“Bordeaux,” he added.

I raised my eyebrows. “Did she come over every day these past two weeks?”

He nodded. “She takes her job seriously.” He glanced at me. “But she seems to genuinely like him. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but she’s slipped right into the routine of the household, and she seems to have developed that sense of protectiveness for Quentin that we all get. I saw her in the pool with him. She watched him the whole time, like she was ready to go catch him if he slipped underwater, even though Dennis was right there.” He shrugged. “You can fake affection all kinds of ways, but you can’t really fake worry. I think she cares about him.”

My little nugget of jealousy melted away. One more soldier in the Guerre de Quentin. “Then yes. We’ll bring her when we come back.”

The sun-filled hours slipped exquisitely by. I felt like I was appearing in a film montage of a happy couple falling in love—the walk on the beach, the scenic boat ride, the pause at the florist’s stall for us to buy matching leis. I was sunburned and starving by the time the dinner hour rolled around, but I was also giddy with a sort of satiated delight. My heart is like a rainbow shell/That paddles in the halcyon sea . . .

“What a perfect day,” I observed as, back on Front Street, we walked through the gathering dusk toward our dinner destination.

“Not over yet,” he replied, and turned me inside.

We were escorted upstairs to a table that overlooked the ocean. There were no windows—there was no wall—it was just us and a roomful of diners on a hardwood floor elevated above the street. Oh, and a leaf-thatched roof overhead, its green pointed edges making a sharp serration where the ceiling met the open air. The setting sun threw gaudy orange stripes across the rippling sea, and fishing boats moved shadowy as sharks off into the graying distance.

“Perfect,” I breathed.

“Romantic,” Bram said. “Just what Dennis promised.”

Our waiter was a tall, lanky, long-haired blonde dressed in black cotton and sporting braided leather bracelets around his knobby wrists. He had an easy smile that made me smile right back, and he pulled up a chair to join us at the table.

“We don’t have printed menus,” he explained, “but I can tell you what’s available tonight. What do you think you’re in the mood for?”

“I don’t think I want seafood,” I said.

“I had a burger at lunch,” Bram added.

“Let’s talk about pasta,” our waiter said.

Bram ended up with lobster, while I chose the recommended risotto primavera, and it was wonderful. The salad was superb. The wine was excellent. The key lime pie at the end of the meal was divine.

“This is the best meal I have ever had in my life,” I said to Bram. “I never want to eat anywhere else as long as I live.”

He smiled. “We’ll have to make nightly visits here when we come back with the whole gang.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

“Then you and I can come back next week.”

I shot him a quick look and said nothing.

“That is, if you’re willing to commit to another date,” he added. “But this one seems to have gone pretty well.”

“Best date ever,” I said. “Let’s come back.”

It was almost ten, Hawaii time, when we’d had our last bites of key lime pie and Bram had figured a tip for the waiter. Despite my best efforts, I could not smother my yawns.

“I warned you,” he said, coming to his feet and reaching for my hand. “Way past your bedtime.”

“The sun makes you sleepy, too,” I protested, stumbling beside him and yawning again. “And the food—and the wine—but I am really, really tired.”

“You’ll be home in no time,” he said, leading the way back to the local gate.

A few jarring moments leaving Lahaina International, a few weary minutes trudging through O’Hare—more deserted than I had ever seen it—and then suddenly we were in my neighborhood, moving down its silent streets. After the sunshine and warmth of Maui, Chicago was shockingly cold. I pulled my inadequate shawl more tightly around my shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said when I yawned again.

“Almost there.”

I was grateful for the toasty warmth I felt the instant we entered my apartment. I was certain I should invite Bram to stay awhile, but I knew I could not remain awake long enough to put together a coherent sentence. He had come just two steps inside, so he did not appear to plan on lingering.

“Want me to check for assailants in the closets?”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. Bram, it was a wonderful day. Evening. Outing.”

“I thought so, too.”

I came close enough to rest my hands on his arms. “And something to look forward to next week,” I added. I had kicked off my heels the minute I walked in, so I had to rise to my tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. He tasted like chardonnay and sunshine.

“Goodnight, Abramo,” I whispered.

“Goodnight, Tay-Tay,” he whispered back. He kissed me again and slipped out the door.

I was in bed and asleep, no doubt, before he had even made it back to the teleport gate.