Downbeat (Biting Love) (21 page)

We were led to the best table in the house. I knew that, not because I’d suddenly gotten socially savvy, but because we passed four women dressed in various shades of LookAtMe and one muttered, “Why are they getting the best table in the house instead of us?” Her table mates shushed her, one breathing, “Because that is Dragan Zajicek.” I was unfortunately getting used to those creamed-estrogen coos.

At our table I started to sit when Dragan stopped me. “First lesson. I will hold the chair for you. Remember how we did it before?”

“Yeah, but why? I can do that myself. This is what I don’t get about fancy manners. They make no sense.”

“Then it will be my pleasure to explain. This is from a time when ladies wore constrictive garments and chairs were heavier. It was a gentleman’s privilege to make the lady’s life easier.”

“Reasonable,” I said grudgingly. “But it’s way out of date.”

“Formal manners, like formalwear, are often old-fashioned,” he chided me. “But never out of date.”

“Fine. I don’t agree, but I’ll let you do the chair thing.” I stood between the chair and the table and waited.

He murmured in my ear, “Raquel, I’m ready. You must sit.” His warm breath tickled my softest spot; my legs trembled and my knees buckled. Again he caught me perfectly. Then he took his own seat.

I shook my head. “Except for you, that always feels like one of those trust exercises where you fall backward and people are supposed to catch you. Emphasis on supposed to.”

He raised a brow as he took a cloth swan from his plate and fluttered it into a napkin. “Someone didn’t catch you?”

“Yeah. Sixth grade. Twyla and her cousin, Synnove, had expanded their repertoire from playing pranks on each other to playing them on everyone. It was a phase. They grew out of it.”

“Good thing, or I would have to chastise them.”

Okay, probably just me, but the way he said
chastise
tightened my nipples and chased goose bumps up my arms.

He pointed at the white swan on my plate. “Take your napkin within a minute of sitting and place it on your lap. If you leave the table, fold it loosely and set it by your plate. Never use it as a handkerchief or wad it into your glass.”

“Good to know.” I took the heavy silk and shook it out like I’d seen him do. It stayed stubbornly folded. I had to shake it hard to make the folds let go and managed to whip it into my water glass. The glass went crashing. Ice cubes leaped over the rim and skidded onto the table and, like the poor meatball of song, onto the floor. My cheeks filled with hot coals and my brain with cold mud. Somehow the single thought which popped into my head was,
Those ice cubes are perfectly clear
.

Dragan’s vampire reflexes caught the glass before the water followed the perfectly clear ice cubes and Niagara Falls-ed onto the tablecloth.

I cleared my throat. “Um, maybe I should get a water without ice.”

“Of course.” He waved two fingers to a guy dressed like Count Cristo but with a different color sash. The guy zoomed in. After he cleaned up my ice, he and Dragan spent a while discussing wines, which, because they were German, I actually understood. Dragan also asked for water without ice for me.

When the man left, Dragan started instructing me again. “Now, the flatware. Start at the outside and work your way in. The exceptions are the butter knife, which is often on the bread plate, and the dessert spoon or fork, which is generally above the dinner plate.” He waved over another guy, this one in a plain dark suit, albeit of better quality than even my good concert wear. The guy deposited a heaping napkin-covered basket exuding a heavenly scent, and I was distracted remembering big bread rolls and Dragan’s pecs. I wondered if there would be nookie after dinner as there had been on Sunday. Sure, he’d already done the orgasmic duet with me but maybe it only counted as a bedpost notch if we rubbed naughty parts directly. A gal could hope.

Then Dragan lectured me on the proper way to eat a salad, and I forgot about his chest in the twitching of my eye.

I was well-fed and actually starting to feel as if I understood some of the maze of rules and regs that made up dining etiquette when a delicate chime went off about Dragan’s person.

He frowned. “My apologies, Raquel. That ringtone means this is a call I must deal with. If I may…?”

“Sure.” I didn’t have a cell phone but my friends did. I knew what was proper and what was rude, and Dragan had been the epitome of polite.

He smiled at me then left the table to deal with his call.

My eyes soldered to his narrow hips as he glided away. Sweet pipers piping, the man was music in motion. A fire roared into life inside me and I drank off half my glass of water trying to put it out. Steam came out my ears but at least my internal temperature lowered.

Until the quartet of well-dressed harpies rose and descended on me.

Their haughty expressions forked up bad memories. In particular, the disgust sloughing off the painfully thin woman in eye-stabbing red reminded me of all Todd’s condescending friends sneering at me at the dance, hating me… Hundreds of icicles stabbed my belly. It was happening again.

No. I was an adult now. I was here with Dragan. I belonged. Sort of. I pasted on a welcoming smile but behind it I was braced for a blow.

A large matronly woman—a well-dressed, well-coiffed steamship in slime green—raised a judgmental brow. “Blue jeans, really? Here?”

“Who let you in?” the thin woman sniffed. “You obviously don’t belong.”

My smile felt stiff and was starting to hurt. But I tried to be polite. “May I help you, ladies?”

“What are you doing with Dragan Zajicek?” said the woman in screaming firetruck yellow. “Are you his hooker?”

The woman in a rather conservative shade of orange—for an organ grinder’s monkey—said, “I overheard them talking. He’s teaching her how to behave. Trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, if you ask me.” She raised her nose and turned away, like I was smelly garbage.

My smile faltered. Why had she done that? Why were they picking on me?

The thin woman said, “Obviously, she’s his charity case.”

My ears started to ring. I was outclassed and out of my depth, sure. Awkward as shit in this refined atmosphere, fine.

But I wasn’t a
case
. I was a human being, just like them.

Something rose in me, the thing that lets me do my job playing solos and leading the wind section. It stood up inside me and said,
This is not right
. I snapped, “I may be poor, but at least I’m not a snob like you.”

The thin woman in red slapped me.

Fire sheared through me, burning away any awkwardness. I leaped to my feet, snatched up my nearly empty glass of water and threw it in her face.

Barely enough to splash her, but I dropped the glass immediately, covering my O of a mouth with one hand, staring at the water dripping off her nose in silent horror, my cheeks starting to sting. I rarely had a burst of temper. This was why. “I’m sorry—”

“How dare you.” The woman grabbed Dragan’s glass—and threw it full-force in my face. Ice cubes hit me hard enough to leave a mark. Hopefully Dolly could cover it with makeup for the ball.

I throttled my immediate reaction, which was to go all Bruce Lee on her ass, and turned away.

“Don’t you dare ignore me.” She grabbed my wrist yanked me back, sweeping up Dragan’s plate of Portobella mushroom–stuffed pasta in red wine and tomato sauce.

She smashed it into my white sweatshirt.

Red goo slopped down the pristine cloth. “My mom made this!”

“Your mom’s a stupid rube.” She didn’t actually say that. Her words were much coarser, making me wonder who the hick really was.

I drew myself up with dignity. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
You unmannered boor
.

I caught sight of Dragan in the doorway, returning from his phone call. Good, because I didn’t know if it was okay to use the fancy napkin to wipe off my shirt, and the sauce was soaking through and making me uncomfortable. I wasn’t terribly worried if the stuff would stain; Mom had a lifetime of experience getting art projects out of clothes.

He saw me and zoomed through the dining room so fast the carpet smoked. “Raquel! What goes on here?”

“Maestro Zajicek,” the thin woman enthused. “We were dealing with this trash for you—”

“You have insulted my
protégée
?” His gaze roved over me and his expression hardened. “How dare you mistreat her?”

They looked like he’d shoved salt blocks down their throats.

The woman in orange was the first to regain her voice. “But she’s nobody. Look at how she’s dressed. No money, no jewelry—”

“She is a phenomenal flautist, as beautiful inside as out and worth ten of any of you. Are you planning to attend the Grand Vienna Woods Ball? It is the social event of the season.”

I could see by their faces they weren’t sure if this was a change in topic. The thin woman said, “Why, yes, we all are.”

“Good. Unless you apologize and leave immediately, I will report this insult to Eleanor herself.”

With flustered apologies, the women disappeared, almost as fast as he’d appeared.

“Raquel. I am so sorry. They are dirt beneath your feet. Don’t let them upset you.” He brushed my cheek where the ice cubes had hit, his fingers gentle, his dark eyes filled with concern. He snatched up a napkin, wrapped ice in it and applied it to the bruised area as a pricey compress. Then he snapped his fingers at the waiter. “Water.” When the man returned with a pitcher Dragan pressed my hand over the ice-filled napkin and grabbed another, dunked it in the water and used it to wipe my sweatshirt. If that wasn’t enough, when the pristine white silk turned pink he snatched another napkin off a nearby table and repeated the procedure, tossing them onto the table liked used tissues.

Pain and humiliation melted in all his fussing. “It’s okay. I just want to go home.”

“Of course. A hot bath, a glass of wine—”

“Beer,” I said firmly. “But the bath is a good idea.”

He took me directly home. He didn’t try to take me to a motel first or even kiss me on the stoop. I once would’ve thought that was because I’d made a scene. But I’d come to believe he truly was attracted to me, that his scowl and brusqueness was because of his outrage at those women.

The incident reminded me why I wasn’t keen on going to the ball. But strangely, the thing that bothered me most?

No nookie.

Julian must have learned from Tuesday because after Thursday’s rehearsal, my pests…I mean, my
friends
not only walked me to my car, they followed me home. I was jumpy the whole way, expecting Dragan to leap out of nowhere.

But he didn’t show. By the time I made it home, the only one upset was me.

I mean, I was relieved. Of course I was.

I parked in front of my flat. Emersons waved goodbye as Mr. Hinz drove past my car. I waved back. The limo turned the corner and I reached for my door handle.

A hand clasped my shoulder.

“Yikes!” I jumped, nearly cracking my skull on the roof, and cranked around to see Dragan in the backseat. In the navy v-neck sweater and slacks he’d worn to rehearsal, he was one with the darkness, only his silver lock glowing. I hissed, “What are you doing? What if Julian and Luke had seen you? They’re not too happy with you, you know. Not since you’ve abducted me
twice
.”

“I didn’t abduct you. You agreed to come with me both Sunday and Tuesday.”

“Well, yes,” I grumbled. “But they didn’t know that.”

“Didn’t you explain?”

“I tried. They didn’t believe me. Why are you here?”

“We didn’t finish our last lesson.”

I flushed, remembering how Tuesday’s dinner had ended. “Sure we did. Napkin in the lap, forks from outside in, the whole shebang. I even practiced.”

“I’m talking about your sensual education.”

My larynx seized up. “
You mean sex
?” I said, only it came out a breathy
huuwheee
.

“I believe you missed an experience which every young person has in high school. I’d be pleased to remedy that.”

“Team sports?”

His eyes twinkled. “Why, Raquel, how adventurous.”

“Wha…? No! I didn’t mean…whatever it is you’re thinking. Especially if it rhymes with bang gang.”

“Such delightful surprises in your education. No, it rhymes with take-out in the sack beat.”

“Sack beat? Oh, backseat. Rake-out in the backseat, lake-out in the backseat, make-out in the… You want to
make out in the backseat
?” A shudder of lusty response went through me. “Your car doesn’t have a backseat.”

“Which is why we will use your car.” He patted my bench seat. “It’s very nice back here.”

I swallowed my tonsils. Croaked, “What if I say I don’t want to?”

“I’d say you’re lying. But I’d respect your wishes. Do you want me to leave then?”

“Um…maybe?” I turned fully in my seat to search his gleaming black eyes for the answer to a question I barely knew I was asking. This went so far beyond a trust exercise where my friends didn’t catch me and all I got were a few bruises.