Engaging Men (37 page)

I felt even more alive the following week when the phone rang from that very same casting director, who confirmed that he had seen something in me, but that something wasn’t right for the part in All For Love. “I may have a part for you in the future, however. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” Though it was true that his phone call boded well (usually they didn’t call at all if you didn’t get the part), I couldn’t help but feel deflated.

And I began to despair that he would never call again, especially since no one else did that week—none of the casting directors or agents I’d mailed my tapes, resume, head shot and all my hopes to. Oh yes, my phone did ring again that week, I discovered, when I came home from Lee and Laurie and found a message blinking there from none other than Viveca Withers, who apparently had learned through the grapevine that Fox was almost ready to talk contracts. She invited me to call her back in case I wanted to discuss anything with her (I didn’t).

And it rang, of course, when Kirk came home from Chicago jubilant. The Norwood contract would be in the mail to him next week. All it needed was signing. “Let’s have dinner on Friday to celebrate,” he said, telling me that he had already taken the liberty of making a reservation at the Blue Water Grill.

“He’s gonna pop the question,” Michelle said as we stood outside Lee and Laurie smoking cigarettes while I informed her of my plans with Kirk Friday night. Not that I was looking for her advice anymore. I had just needed a cigarette and was making idle chat.

“No he’s not” I protested, a bit heatedly, I’ll admit. “We’re going there to celebrate his new client.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you understand how men work by now? There is nothing like the prospect of a secure income to pop a man’s lid right off. They got that whole provider thing going on. Once they know they’re able to take care of a wife and family, suddenly getting a wife and family is all they want to do.”

“But he hasn’t even shopped for the ring! We haven’t shopped for the ring.”

She shrugged. “He probably took matters into his own hands.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “Kirk wouldn’t spend all that money without knowing what I wanted. He’s too…practical for that.”

But I had a feeling she wasn’t wrong when Kirk called me Friday afternoon to tell me our reservation was at eight and that I should meet him at the restaurant, since it was between our two apartments. “And don’t be late,” he admonished with a chuckle. “I have a very special evening planned for us.”

I did the only thing I could do. I bought a pack of cigarettes. And since Justin miraculously was not home on Friday night, I smoked three of them locked in my bedroom while getting ready, waving the smoke out the window in between puffs and mad attempts to put on my makeup, pick out an outfit and take the crazy frizz out of my hair that seemed to creep up the minute I got too close to the window (and I was practically hanging out of it every time I lit a cigarette).

Of course I was late, since I felt an urge for yet another cigarette on the way there and discovered I had no matches. 1 was so wound up I almost got into a screaming match at the newsstand where I stopped to pick some up, because the guy wanted to charge me a nickel for a pack, probably because I hadn’t purchased my little cancer sticks at his fine establishment. Then he had the nerve to sneer at me when I handed him a twenty dollar bill (what, it was all I had). I placated him by buying a box of Altoids (I feared I would need them anyway—there was the breath factor) and there would probably be the hello kiss (usually closed lip, but still) and, if Michelle was right—the postproposal embrace. Oh, God. Please let her be wrong. Because I was sure, absolutely sure, that as much as I loved Kirk, the ring he had purchased for me would not be anything I would want to wear. Would it be wrong to bring this up? How long does a girl have to wait before she suggests a new setting without spoiling the romance of the moment? Surely there must be some precedent. I mean, not every bride wound up with her dream ring on the first shot, right?

Or her dream man, a little voice whispered. Oh, wait, that sounded like the voice of Claudia. I wasn’t Claudia, though. I was happy, dammit. Or I was going to be.

Even if it killed me.

“One for dinner?” the maitre d‘ said when I walked into the restaurant. Who went to dinner alone at Blue Water Grill? Claudia, probably. I was not Claudia! “No, two actually. Um, but my date might be here already.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Follow me.”

Uh-oh, he knew exactly who I was talking about. Which meant the ever-punctual Kirk was probably taking out his annoyance at me on the staff.

But when I saw Kirk seated alone, a beatific smile on his face,

I realized he wasn’t annoyed. No, he was pretty damn happy to see me.

And that scared me even more.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, standing up as I chewed furiously on my mint before he pressed his lips to mine. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking down at my tank top and skirt as if suddenly remembering I had dressed for this occasion. In black. It seemed…appropriate.

“I already took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of champagne.”

Champagne? I must have looked confused.

“To celebrate.”

Oh, right. Norwood.

But when I looked up at Kirk, the warmth sparkling in his eyes, I realized he might be wanting to celebrate something else.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“So I was looking at the menu—they’ve got some great seafood here.”

“Right,” I said, remembering that we were here to eat. That’s right. Food. What exactly was in all those savory sauces so many of the entrees seemed to be doused in? I was definitely going to die tonight. I was going to die, and Kirk was going to put that engagement ring in a safe-deposit box and go on with his life. Well, he would grieve of course. For a little while. I imagined him telling his parents, his mother nodding sympathetically while secretly gleeful that her grandchildren wouldn’t inherit all my maladies. Kayla would miss me. I was sure of that. She might even put together a performance piece in my honor. At P.S. 122. I’d be famous.

See that? Everything would be fine. If I did die, that is.

“Are you ready to order?”

Kirk looked up hopefully at me. “Grilled salmon,” I said automatically. It was what I ordered when there was nothing else. I was too mentally exhausted to have the waiter catalog the ingredients in the fancier entrees. And I had decided, as the waiter stared down at me, waiting for my order, that I did want to live. Come what may.

“I’ll have the lobster, steamed,” Kirk said.

Look at this, I was going to marry a man who ate things that

resembled living creatures. How was I going to enjoy this night with that horrible-looking thing staring at me?

Fortunately, the champagne arrived. I was so relieved or so.. .something, I downed my first glass before the waiter had finished pouring Kirk’s.

“Angie!” Kirk said, lifting his glass and looking at me as the waiter dropped the bottle into the ice bucket he’d placed tableside and disappeared.

“What?” I said, plopping my glass down on the table with satisfaction.

“I thought we were going to make a toast,” he said.

Oops. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Never mind, there’s more where that came from,” he replied, picking up the bottle from the bucket and refilling my glass. Boy, he was in a good mood. Nothing I did seemed to bother him tonight. He was positively docile. And I didn’t like it. Where was that brooding man who had made my life hell all these months? Suddenly I wanted him back.

But instead I picked up my glass.

“To us,” Kirk said, touching his glass to mine.

I gulped down half the glass. Then, because I wanted to keep things properly focused this evening, I said, “Shouldn’t we be toasting you, darling? As the hot new software designer for Norwood?”

He smiled, reached across the table and took my hand. “But don’t you see?” he said. “This is just the beginning of everything. For us.”

I studied his eyes, the candlelight casting a glow over his handsome features. Or was that love casting the glow? The way he was looking at me, I thought he might have a ring tucked in that blazer he was sporting.

Oh, God. He wouldn’t spend all that money without any idea of what I wanted, would he? No, as I’d told Michelle, he was too practical for that. But what if in the rush of love—or the rush of testosterone that deprivation seems to set flowing—he’d run to his nearest Zales and bought me a rock? That would be terrible, just terrible. Not that I didn’t love him. I did.

It was just that I was sure, so sure, that he would have no idea what I wanted in a ring.

Or in life, for that matter.

Maybe that’s because you haven’t told him what you want, a little voice said. Yes, I thought, maybe I should tell him. It was probably the champagne in my system, or a desire to put off a proposal scene (if that’s what he had in mind) that urged me on, but suddenly I found myself confessing to my sudden frantic urge to find a new gig, which had begun just moments after Rena had told us our contract was in the works. I told him about the mailing that had resulted in no calls, the audition that I had worked so hard on, only to hear I hadn’t got the part. Not even the sight of the lobster the waiter served during my heartfelt speech could stop me.

And while Kirk sipped his wine and tore that little beast from limb to limb, I saw him nod sympathetically, and when he finally did speak, I was amazed at the insightfulness in his words.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be such a struggle, Ange. I know you’re used to working hard for what you want, maybe so much so that you’re addicted to the struggle. Why not take this contract, make some money, enjoy life for a change? It doesn’t mean you have to stay there forever. Just for a little while. To make your life a little easier.

It could have been that the champagne warmed my system, but I realized he was right. I did need things easier. Everything I did was always so hard. Why not take that contract? I could probably even keep auditioning. Hell, I’d have more time to audition, since I’d be able to give up Lee and Laurie.

He was so smart, I thought. I almost felt a disappointment when we finished our meal and I realized he wasn’t going to propose tonight. Well, not exactly. Because if these past two weeks had taught me anything, it was that if I was going to make a real go of acting, I needed time. But I wondered how much time I had, especially when Kirk reached across the table, grabbed my hand and told me how he’d spoken to his parents. How much they liked me and looked forward to seeing me again.

I would have been shocked at that, if I hadn’t been even more frightened of that look on his face—like he wanted to plan a trip real soon, like he might have some other big news to tell them about his future. Our future.

Michelle was right. He was pretty much popped—now that

he had Norwood under wraps, it seemed like he wanted me under wraps, too.

Oh, God.

I needed a cigarette.

But of course I couldn’t have one while strolling arm in arm with Kirk back to his apartment.

“Hey, Henry,” he said cheerfully to the doorman as we strode into his building. Henry smiled and waved and, when I caught his eye, even winked, as if we shared some secret.

I felt an almost Pavlovian urge for a cigarette.

When the elevator stopped at Kirk’s floor, I stepped toward his door, only to be pulled back into his arms for a kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes. Then he gestured toward the Exit sign down the hall. “Hey, remember our little rendezvous under the bleachers? What do you say to a little replay in the stairwell?” he said, tugging me toward it. “No one ever uses it…”

I looked at that bright red sign as if at some omen of my future. Remembered that veritable orgy—in my mind, anyway— that had occurred under the bleachers, and immediately backed away.

“I, uh…I don’t know, Kirk.”

He pulled me close again, his arms roaming over my back. “C’mon, Ange, it’ll be wild.”

Not knowing what else to do, I leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “I… I just want to be alone… with you. In bed.” That was true, right?

“Well, you’ll get no arguments from me on that,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to the apartment.

The minute we stepped through the door, he was all over me. His hands searching frantically under my shirt, his mouth on my neck. I felt a wave of desire rush over me, so strong that it almost frightened me. So much so that I pulled away again.

“Angie, you’re driving me crazy.”

Him? I was driving myself crazy. “I just need…” I paused, not sure what I needed.‘! need to use the bathroom.“

He gestured toward the door. “Anything you want, baby. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

I went into the bathroom, shutting the door soundly behind me. I even relieved myself, just to keep it honest. But I didn’t really have to go. What I needed most was to think. Except my brain was now muddled by wine and desire…

I stood before the mirror and slowly washed my hands, staring at my reflection.What is wrong with you, Angela DiFranco? I asked the woman I saw there, who looked pretty good, in spite of all the angsting she’d been doing. That man loves you, and you love him. Just live for a change. Forget about the future. Just enjoy the moment.

Sound advice, I realized, especially when I heard a knock at the door. “You okay in there?”

I cracked it open and gave Kirk a small smile. “Fine.”Then, when I saw he had stripped down to his boxers, I realized I was more than fine as my eyes grazed over that flat, hard stomach, that beautiful chest. Yes, I was in the moment again, I thought. And clearly Kirk saw it, because suddenly he was backing me up on the sink, his hands moving under my skirt and his mouth on mine.

Ah, yes…this was what it was all about, I thought, yanking up my tank and pressing myself against that perfect chest.

Before I knew what was happening, Kirk had my skirt up around my waist, my panties on the floor and my ass on the edge of the sink. He paused, only to pull off his boxers, then suddenly he was inside of me, thrusting like a madman.