Coffee in Common (8 page)

"And you know this…why?"

Rob grinned. "Lisa told me once. I guess when you're the function manager, the Ritz makes you learn all that stuff. Did you know the place is fifty acres? And they used to use it for grazing cows?"

"Really?" Paul surveyed the grass and trails. "All I see now are grazing people."

As they ate and walked, Rob casually led Paul onto a path that cut diagonally across the Common to Charles Street. He'd been re-telling, in greater detail, the story of last night's chastisement by Marianne.

"You have no idea how pissed she was at me," he said. "She even threatened to arrest me if I ever had the poor sense to do that again in her jurisdiction."

Paul's expression made clear he thought Rob had crossed the line from mere embellishment to outright fantasy.

"I swear. Those were just about her exact words. As if I would fly out to Seattle to keep you from calling your new honey."

"I'm not sure she qualifies yet as my honey. And to tell the truth, I actually had a pretty good time last night. I never talked with a cop before. She was pretty interesting. Real smart. And she was funny! You never think of cops as being funny. At least I don't. And let's face it, she was scorching!"

"Hmmm…sounds like coffee girl has some competition."

"No. No way. Marianne was nice but
Jillian
is something special. Like I said this morning, I have it bad."

Paul looked around and realized where they were. "Where the heck are we going?"

"Hey, it's a nice day. I thought we could take a walk over to the Beacon Street side."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to walk straight across? Or is there some special reason we'll be walking up Charles to Beacon?

"Reason? Besides this glorious sunshine?"

"Are we planning to turn left when we get to Beacon? Are we hoping to run into anyone we know sitting on her favorite bench eating lunch in the Public Gardens?" Paul sighed loudly and shook his head for effect. "Didn't Priya tell you to give her time to make up her mind?"

"I know, I know. But I want to see her. From a distance. I haven't seen her in almost two weeks and I miss her. I miss the sight of her. You know what I mean?"

Paul nodded. "Yah, I know." He felt the same way about Jillian and it had only been twenty-four hours since he'd seen her.

Neither of them spoke now that the real purpose of the walk had been revealed. Paul hoped she wouldn't be there. He trusted Priya's judgment and was afraid if Rob saw her, he'd not be able to resist approaching her.

As he walked, Rob conjured Lisa's image in his mind; her brilliant smile, sapphire-blue eyes, long blond hair, and delicate, creamy skin; the five-foot ten-inch body that turned heads wherever she went.

"You know she's loaded, right?"

"Well, I suspected with two uber-lawyers for parents, she might be well-off."

"Her parents do okay. But they both come from old money. Lisa has this huge trust fund…I'm talking eight figures before the decimal point…but she never touches it except to write checks to charities and stuff. She lives off her salary. I mean, she could be some ditzy playgirl like…what's her name…Paris Hilton or something, but that's not what she wants, you know. I mean, she really is so…what's the word you used yesterday…unassuming and straightforward. And she's way more interested in other people than herself." He sighed. "I guess that's why everyone finds her so sweet and charming."

Paul just nodded, knowing his friend was mostly talking to remind himself of all the things he loved about the woman who might soon shatter his heart.

Lisa's favorite bench was about 100 yards ahead, diagonally across from the Bull & Finch Pub, the inspiration for the 1980's television comedy
Cheers
. Set back a few yards from the sidewalk, the bench was still hidden by the shrubs and trees that lined the park.

Paul was on the street side of the sidewalk so his view cleared the trees a split second before Rob's did. He reached for his friend's arm, but it was too late. Ahead, seated on her bench, Lisa was engaged in animated conversation with a man. She was laughing at something he said and reached out to touch his arm. As she made contact, she glanced over his shoulder and noticed Paul and Rob, who had come to an abrupt halt. Paul was watching Rob and Rob was staring at her, shoulders slumped. He looked like he'd been punched. Then, before she had time to react, Rob turned on his heel and walked away. Lisa's gaze shifted to Paul, who sighed, pursed his lips, and with a slight shake of his head, turned and hurried to catch up with his friend.

When he'd matched pace, he said, "Hey, slow down. It's…"

"Forget it, man." Rob's head was shaking so fast it seemed to be shivering. "I should have known. What an idiot I am. Taking a break. Right."

Rob's cell phone rang. He didn't even glance at the display before turning it off.

"Why didn't you answer it? She might…"

Again Rob cut him off. "Hey, I have no right to complain. She can see anyone she wants. Hell, I was out with, ah, what's-her-name last night, wasn't I? Fair is fair. What did you think? She'd sit around like a nun?"

"Well, I hadn't…"

"She's a great girl." There was no mistaking the despair in his voice. "She can have anyone she wants." And then a few silent steps later. "Anyone she wants."

3:30 PM

Jillian and six of the crowd who witnessed the delivery of the flowers that morning sat around the oval table in the break/conference room. One of the perks of working at Metro Magazine was management's laid-back attitude. As long as the work was done on time to meet deadlines and you showed up bright and cheery for meetings, they didn't much care whether you stayed glued to your desk all day or wandered the halls. It made for a relaxed atmosphere where creative people could work and rest as needed.

Pumping Jillian for information about Paul seemed to be the day's sport. Her co-workers alternately sighed, smiled, laughed, and cooed with appreciation as she told them about how they met, the fateful lunch, and of the late night conversation.

Finally, Marie asked the question that was on everyone's lips. "So when's the big date?"

"Friday. Tomorrow."

"Where's he taking you?"

"I don't know." She repeated what she'd told Paul.

Dave Webber, one of the layout guys chuckled. "Now that could be dangerous. Giving a guy carte blanche to surprise you! How bold! And here we all thought you were so quiet and conservative. You know, some men might take that as an invitation to, let's say, some interpersonal relations."

Jillian shook her head. "I'm not worried, Dave. You have to remember, most men aren't like you."

He clutched at his chest. "Argh, you wound me. Although it's true, of course."

Everyone laughed. Dave had a well-deserved reputation. Every new female employee received a warning about him from one of the other females, although many times, the warning came with stories and the kind of praise for his attributes and talents that made the new girl want to sample for herself.

"To tell the truth," Jillian said, "I really don't care if we just grab a burger and sit and talk all night."

Shandra grunted. "You know
that's
not happening, girl. This boy sent you flowers after only talking to you. My money's on a fancy restaurant, some quiet place for drinks, or maybe the theater, then drinks, then a night-full of the hot and nasty. Yes! Jilli's gonna be gettin'
dowwwwn
! Woo!"

Her slow, sultry bump and grind elicited peals of laughter from everyone. Jillian could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

Time to change the subject, I think.

"Anyone else have plans for tomorrow?"

"Why?" asked Lucinda, one of the copy writers. "You inviting us all along on your date?"

That brought more laughter.

"What a great idea!" agreed Marie. "We can all meet him and share all the gory details about our girl here."

Jillian groaned. "That is soooo
not
gonna happen. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut. This is what I get for blabbing to a bunch of mental misfits."

Again laughter rang through the room as everyone congratulated themselves on their collective wit.

Jillian rose to pour herself another cup of coffee.

"Sounds like fun over here." Cathy O'Hara stuck her head full of long, burnished-red hair through the door." Am I missing a party or something?"

Shandra explained as the others drifted off back to their workspaces.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot about you leaving early for lunch yesterday. Okay, now I have to hear the story, too."

Jillian didn't mind the re-telling. Cathy was older, thirty-two and married, and Jillian was interested in her take on the whole thing. She began again as Shandra waved goodbye.

Cathy found her heartstrings tugged as the tale unfolded. When it was over, she sat quietly for a few seconds, then smiled. "Jillian…I have a good feeling about this."

"Really? I mean, I've been having all these feelings that don't seem quite right yet. I hardly know him, but just talking to him makes me all warm and tingly. It sounds stupid, I know. Stereotypically girly, like every guy's impression of how we go all soft and mushy when they deign to talk to us. But I can't help it."

She looked sheepishly at her boss, hoping she wasn't sounding too much like a kid caught up in her first crush.

"Did I ever tell you how Mike and I met?" Cathy asked.

Jillian shook her head.

"I was twenty-three, a year out of college, and had been laid off from my first job when the company merged and downsized. Nobody was hiring, I was almost out of money, and my roommates were hinting that they couldn't carry my share of the expenses for very long. In short, I was miserable.

"I had visions of having to move back to my parents' house in Chicago. I knew lots of people were doing it, but I hated the idea. Just the thought of it made me feel like a loser."

Jillian nodded. As much as she loved her parents, she, too, never wanted to have to go back home to live.

"I'd been making the rounds of employment agencies for almost two weeks without so much as a hint of a position. I was an English major with a minor in business, but evidently everyone and their sisters had also majored in English and seemed to be after the same jobs I was."

She grimaced as she recalled that time in her life.

"It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was waiting my turn at yet another agency. When I filled out the application, I indicated I'd consider any entry-level position in publishing. I was sitting and reading some trashy novel when I heard the woman at the desk call out ‘O'Hara, room three twenty-two'

"I stuffed my book in my purse and hurried down the hall. The door was open, so I knocked and walked into the office. This gorgeous guy was sitting behind the desk reading what I thought was my résumé."

*  *  *

Without glancing up from his reading, the interviewer said, "O'Hara, I'm Marcel Henriquez. This may be your lucky day. We just got a call from Metro Magazine. They want some fresh blood to write ad copy and they pretty much take whoever we send over. Interested?"

"Yes, sir," Cathy said as enthusiastically as she could. "It sounds exactly like what I've been looking for."

At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up and did a double-take.

"Who are you?"

"O'Hara. The woman at the desk called my name and said to come here."

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean? I'm Cathy O'Hara and she told me to come to room three twenty-two."

Before he could respond, a voice at the door said, "I don't think he was expecting anyone so pretty."

She turned to see a man standing there, briefcase in hand. He'd been grinning, but she saw his face change as their eyes met. He seemed suddenly nervous or ill as he stared at her for a few more seconds.

 "I'm afraid O'Hara is a pretty common name in Boston. I think he was expecting Mike O'Hara."

"Right, Mike O'Hara," Henriquez said.

Cathy realized what had happened. For a split second, she thought her job worries were over. Now it was all being snatched from her.

She could feel her spirit collapsing inward. Her whole body drooped with the weight of her disappointment. All the while, Mike stood there, transfixed, unable to tear his eyes from her.

"You don't have to gloat," she said to him. "You were here first, it's your job."

"No…I'm not…I mean…I was just…look, have we met before? Because I feel like I know you."

Oh great. Could this get any worse? Not only does he take my job, he's hitting on me, too.

"I don't think so." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" He sounded frantic. "It's obvious this job is important to you. Why don't you take the interview. I'm really not all that interested in publishing anyway."

Cathy was surprised, but shook her head. "No, I can't take your job." Again she started to leave.

"Please, I want you to." He turned to the headhunter. "I don't want the job. I already found one. I just came to see if there was anything better. Please give her the interview."

He turned back to find Cathy had stopped halfway out the door.

"Why would you do this?"

"I'll make you a deal. This guy is on commission. Time is money to him. Take the interview. Get the job if you can. I'll wait out in the reception area. When you're done, I'll tell you. Deal?"

He could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Please?"

There was something about the way he was looking at her, something about the way he said ‘please.' "Okay. But don't you dare leave."

"I promise. I'll go flirt with the receptionist while I'm waiting."

She wasn't sure if he was kidding, but, curiously, didn't like that idea. She watched him leave, then turned back to Mr. Henriquez, her hand extended..

"Hi, I'm Cathy O'Hara."

Twenty-five minutes later, she was walking on air as she entered the lobby. The interview had gone well, helped along, she thought, by what had happened earlier. She wanted to find Mike and thank him for what he'd done for her.