Alligators in the Trees (36 page)

“What?”

“This is just so strange for me.”

“Why’s that?”

Priscilla leveled an incredulous look at him. “You don’t find anything peculiar about what’s happened between us? You wandering into Frank’s Food Hell, me waiting on you…you stumbling into my apartment building and buying my stuff…? Then running into each other right before I left town? Doesn’t any of that strike you as incredible?”

“I didn’t just stumble into your building. I went there specifically to find you. Besides, weirder things have happened,” Tobias said, a playful grin giving him away.

“Well, I don’t what to hear about them. I’m having enough trouble with this.”

“What’s the trouble?” Tobias asked cavalierly. Priscilla was too exasperated to answer. “Hey, sometimes you just have to go where life takes you.”

“I never thought I’d hear such trite philosophizing come out of you,” Priscilla said reproachfully.

“Watch it,” Tobias said, an evil glint in his eye. “I seem to recall as few corny sentiments in those notebooks of yours,” he said, making as if to fetch the lot of them to prove his point.

“No fair. Most of that soppy stuff was written when I was a kid,” Priscilla said, grabbing his arm to prevent him from carrying out his threat.

This minor physical contact had a pronounced effect on both of them, though Priscilla pretended not to notice. Tobias leaned casually against the sofa, his gaze and smile lightly mocking her. Priscilla refused to be rattled. She stared back blankly as if she felt nothing out of the ordinary.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said.

“What is it?”

“You
do
have eyes, after all,” she remarked, belatedly realizing this was the first time she had ever seen him without his ubiquitous sunglasses. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember ever seeing a photo of him without his shades, not even on an album cover. The difference it made in his appearance was so profound, it amazed her she hadn’t noticed it before.

“What color are they?” she asked leaning in for a better look. Tobias, suddenly self-conscious without his protective armor, arched away from her peering eyes. His discomfort was not lost on Priscilla. She enjoyed having him in a vulnerable position. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two orbs, comparing them in the different lights.

“They’re sort of a blue-grey, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tobias admitted, as he searched for his glasses. Spying them on a table by the piano, he leapt up and put them on, turning back to Priscilla with a childishly triumphant air.

“Oh really,” she sighed. “Hey, it’s too late—I’ve already seen them. They’re no big mystery anymore. Two eyes, one just like the other.” Tobias sat down next to her, smugly indifferent to her taunts. “Come on, there’s no paparazzi here. No need to hide behind those dark glasses.” Tobias resumed his earlier posture, confidently staring at her from close range.

“Okay, be that way,” Priscilla said, reaching into her purse for her sunglasses. She put them on and turned toward Tobias, each staring the other down fearlessly. Both found it hard to keep a straight face, but neither wanted to be the first one to crack. After a couple minutes of the staring standoff, it became a battle of the wills.

Tobias was the first to realize that subterfuge was necessary in order to become the victor, so with that in mind, he worked up a routine of facial tics so ridiculous, a person would have to be made of stone not to find them humorous. But Priscilla was immune to his tactics. She stared on without even a hint of a reaction.

She let Tobias’s act run its course before initiating one of her own, one subtler than her opponent’s. She nonchalantly pulled her hair back and secured it with a clip, an act so natural, Tobias never guessed at what she was up to until it was too late. Once he realized she was wiggling her ears, he was a goner. He tried to fight for control, but it was no use. Never had he seen anyone move their ears with such agility.

“Damn, how do you do that?” he asked, after surrendering with a fit of giggles.

“Can’t tell you. It’s a family secret.”

“No, really—where’d you learn to do that?” he insisted, leaning forward in an attempt to look behind her ears. Priscilla leaned away, throwing her hands over her ears. He pulled her arms down, laughing, making her laugh, too. She wrested one hand free and removed her clip, letting her hair act as a natural blind.

“Ha ha,” she said, clearly outsmarting him again. Tobias leaned back and feigned indifference, just long enough for Priscilla to relax her guard. Without warning, Tobias lunged at her, knocking her back against the sofa, her hands pinned next to her shoulders.

“Do it again,” he commanded her. Priscilla could barely protest over her excited laughter.

“Let go of me, you lunatic!” she managed to squeal, but Tobias would not oblige.

“Not until you show me how it’s done,” he said, moving in for a closer inspection. Priscilla was unable to answer for several seconds as she laughed and shrieked and tried to throw him off.

“You must have some kind of tiny mechanism behind there,” Tobias insisted, as Priscilla squirmed to prevent him from looking.

“Wait!” she croaked. “I think I heard someone knocking at the door.”

“Nice try.”

“No, honestly.” Tobias scoffed and continued the tussle. It was the low cough of the bellman that finally convinced him that she wasn’t fibbing. He sprang away from Priscilla with such alacrity, he startled the young bellman.

“Sorry, Mr. Jordan. You must not have heard me knocking,” the bellman said, coloring at his embarrassment. “Where would you like me to put your dry cleaning?”

“Any of the bedrooms is fine. Um…make it the other one, to your left,” Tobias said, causing the bellman to clumsily reverse himself. The young man made haste to dispatch his errand and get out. Tobias intercepted him as he rounded the corner to the foyer.

“Here you go,” he said, slipping the bellboy a ten to show no hard feelings.

“Thank you, Mr. Jordan,” the kid uttered nervously, bowing his way backwards to the door. “Call if you need anything, sir,” he added before shutting the door behind him. Tobias waived munificently and retraced his steps to his awaiting guest, who had taken advantage of the intrusion to pull herself together.

“Saved by the knock,” Tobias said, as he sauntered back into the room. Priscilla smiled at the remark. Whatever inspired their roughhousing had served to break through any remaining tension that existed between them. They had reached a level of intimacy that made it impossible and unnecessary for them to stay on their guard. They were at a new stage in their odd relationship, but what that stage was, neither of them seemed to know for sure.

“Well, that was fun. I guess we could find an empty coke bottle and give it a spin,” Tobias said facetiously.

“Or if you have a blindfold, we could play Pin the Tail on the Donkey. You can be the donkey first,” Priscilla suggested.

“Very funny.” Tobias sat back down next to her, and lapsed into thought while Priscilla continued to tidy her appearance.

“Are you hungry?” Tobias asked. “Neither one of us ate what we ordered at Loemann’s.”

“Yeah, I know. That cheesecake was really good, but I guess I didn’t have much of an appetite then.”

“How about now?”

“I could eat.”

“Where should we go?” Tobias asked, standing up.

“I don’t know. I don’t really know many places in this part of town. I imagine you know the area better than I do.”

Tobias considered the options. “What do you feel like?”

Priscilla shrugged.

“How does Japanese sound?”

“Can’t say I’m very fond of raw fish.”

“Okay…French, Italian, Greek…?”

“I’m fairly pedestrian when it comes to food,” Priscilla said, realizing that dining out with Tobias Jordan would probably be a lot like her first date with Phil. Rich people eat differently than poorer folks. It was just a fact of life.

“Why don’t you name the cuisine and I’ll pick the place,” Tobias suggested.

Priscilla could tell the process was starting to annoy him. “Um…well, how about seafood? Cooked seafood,” she amended, reading Tobias’s mind. She could tell he was really in the mood for Japanese, but there was no way she could put herself through that.

“Cooked seafood it is,” Tobias said, ushering her toward the door. “I know the perfect spot that serves both. It’s about a ten block walk, if you’re up for it.”

“Sure, no problem. I like to walk,” she said, watching as Tobias donned his baseball cap. At least he left his leather jacket behind.

“Is it hard for you to go out in public without being hounded?”

“Sometimes. Depends on the place, and the time of day. And who I’m with,” he added as an afterthought, recalling all the unwelcome attention he attracted when he was out with Simone and her brothers. The place he had in mind was so busy, and so accustomed to having celebrities milling about, no one would pay the slightest attention to a rock star and a former coffee shop waitress.

Paulina let Philip in and led him back to the kitchen where Caitlin was eating her dinner. It was quarter to seven, forty-five minutes past the nanny’s quitting time. As late as Philip was, he had left the office with a pile of unfinished business.

“Daddy!” Caitlin cried, as she sprang out of her chair. Philip caught her mid-flight and hoisted her into the air.

“Hi sweet cakes!” he said, as he held her tight to his chest. “Thanks for feeding her,” he said to Paulina over Caitlin’s shoulder.

“It was no problem, Mr. Glessner.”

“Paulina made me macaroni and cheese,” Caitlin announced gleefully.

“I see that. Okay, squirt—sit down and finish your dinner so we can get going,” Philip said, as he lowered her to the ground. He pulled out a chair and sat down next to her to coax her along, but he could tell she was more interested in talking to him than she was in her half-eaten pasta.

“Haley Prattlesworth brought two turtles to school today.”

“Is that right? C’mon, sweetheart—take another bite,” Philip encouraged her, skewering several macaronis onto her fork.

“That’s too many,” Caitlin protested, pulling three pieces off with her fingers.

“Okay, eat that bite.”

“Can I make you something to eat, Mr. Glessner?”

“Oh, no thanks, Paulina. I’m not hungry.”

“Guess what their names were,” Caitlin said through a mouthful of food.

“Who? Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Philip said, as he loaded the next forkful. He held it at the ready while Caitlin made a big show of chewing her food thoroughly.

“Wait, can I just tell you something?” she pleaded as soon as her mouth was empty.

“Sure. Just take another bite first.”

“No, Daddy—I have to tell you first,” Caitlin insisted.

“All right, go ahead,” Philip relented, sticking the forkful in his own mouth. It wasn’t until he had the pasta on his tongue that he realized he hadn’t had anything but coffee and half a turkey sandwich all day. His stomach growled audibly, making both Caitlin and the nanny laugh.

“Daddy!” Caitlin squealed with delight.

“Sorry. Go on with your story.” Philip stabbed at the macaroni while Caitlin chattered away.

“Haley’s turtles are called Kermit and Miss Piggy! Isn’t that so dumb?”

“Why do you say that?” Caitlin rolled her eyes and feigned great impatience.

“
Because,
Kermit is a frog and Miss Piggy is a pig! You can’t call turtles frog and pig names!”

“I don’t see why not,” Philip said, helping himself to another bite. “They’re her turtles, so she gets to call them anything she wants. It would be no different if you had a dog and named him Dumbo,” he reasoned.

“Dumbo!” Caitlin cried indignantly. “Who ever heard of a dog called Dumbo?” she said, snickering at her silly father.

“Or naming your cat Bambi. Or your spider Mickey.”

“Daddy, that’s dumb!” Caitlin giggled.

“Come on, now—one last bite,” Philip urged, holding the fork for her. She snatched the forkful in her mouth and made bug-eyes as she struggled to chew the oversize bite.

“You don’t have to stay, Paulina—I can lock up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Glessner, but Mrs. Glessner gave me specific instructions to stay until you and Caitlin left,” the nanny replied, embarrassed at being put in the middle of their conflict.

“Well, we’re going right now…after one more bite,” he tried to con his daughter, but she was having no part of it.

“You said the other one was the last. You eat it,” Caitlin said, guiding the fork to his mouth.

“All right—all done,” Philip said, standing up, bowl in hand.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Daddy,” Caitlin warned. Philip tried to look stern, but it didn’t come off.

“Get your stuff together, Pumpkin. We’ve got to take off,” he said, handing the dish to Paulina. “Did you pack enough clothing for a few days?”

“Mrs. Glessner packed her bag,” Paulina said.

“I helped. I put in three pairs of shorts and five tops and two sweaters and two pairs of long pants and—”

“When did you help pack?” Philip asked, an uneasy feeling coming over him.

“When I got home from school,” Caitlin replied.

“I thought your mother had to leave for the airport before you got out of school,” he said, looking from daughter to nanny for confirmation or denial. “I thought that’s why I had to come and get you.”

“She wouldn’t have had enough time to pick Caitlin up and get back and pack,” Paulina offered.

“I see.” Philip, stinging from the deception, turned Caitlin toward the door and gave her a gentle push. “Go get your things, honey.” Turning to Paulina, he asked, “What time did Mrs. Glessner leave?”

“It was four-fifteen,” Caitlin piped up before the nanny could answer. “Mommy was mad ’cause Uncle Martin was supposed to be here at four o’clock, on the dot,” Caitlin added before sashaying out of the room.

“Wait a second, Pumpkin,” Philip called out. Caitlin popped her head back around the corner. “Martin Fink picked your mother up and took her to the airport?”

Caitlin nodded energetically. “Martin Finky-Stinky,” she said, looking bored with the thought of the man.

“Why would he take her to the airport?” Philip asked. Caitlin shrugged and made a face of comic bafflement. “Okay, go get your stuff.”

Paulina became very busy at the sink, so Philip couldn’t study her expression for clues as to Marianne’s trickery. “Uncle Martin” was supposedly
his
attorney. What earthly reason did he have for escorting the adversary to the airport?

Philip felt his face grow hot as he envisioned such a picture. He thought back to the settlement meetings and how solicitous Martin had always seemed when addressing Marianne. He had assumed Martin did so to underscore Stan Michelson’s distinct lack of manners.

That lousy son-of-a-bitch,
Philip thought, the muscles in his face twitching with anger. Whatever was going on behind his back could not be good. His temptation was to pick up the phone and call his two-faced lawyer out on his actions. But Martin and Marianne would only come up with some cockamamie tale that he could neither prove nor disprove. No, the thing to do was feign ignorance and catch them at their own game, whatever that was.