Haze (8 page)

"Wow. This is really good." A smile that I just couldn't hold back broke out on my face.

"Come on a date with me tonight, okay? Casual, no big deal." The words sputtered out at a machine-gun pace, as if he hadn't heard me compliment the coffee at all.

I sort of forgot about the coffee, too.

"What if I say no?"

"I'll send you
three
gifts tomorrow."

He definitely had the upper hand. "Fine, you win. I'll go." I took another sip of the drink. "What about Sam, though?" I asked.

"The business part of it? I'll never let
this
negatively affect your work situation. I promise. The artist and I haven't made a final decision yet. It has nothing to do with you."

"Sam is still freaking out about it," I said. "He seems pretty desperate. Maybe you should—"

"Maybe I should
what
?" he asked suddenly. "If I let
this
sway my business decision in any way, I could get into trouble later. So I'll keep it clear and concise, and we'll let him know when—and
if
—we're ready."

I quickly realized I had little to no idea what I was talking about—and more importantly that I needed to just shut up and not worry right now. "Okay, fine. Yeah, make the best decision for you."

"I always do," he said with a sly smile. "That's why I'm here."

"What if I said no to the date? Would you skip MCI?"

He started laughing and lightly stroked my hand, enough that it actually made me tremble. I was just glad to see that despite the little flare-up of business-related seriousness, he had already made a triumphant return to being jovial.

We kept with that theme and chatted casually the rest of the lunch. It seemed obvious that Jack wanted to keep things light—or maybe to save the heavy stuff for our upcoming, newly inevitable dinner.

As always, time seemed to move too fast, and before I knew it, I had to head back to work. Jack gave me a quick hug to conclude our little meeting, and honestly, I'll say I really liked it. I liked how secure I felt with his arms felt around me, as if I were momentarily shielded from the harshness of the city. It was so weird and tumultuous—I was trying to validate the things I
felt
whilst trying hide in a cloak of
being logical
.

The world rushed back in like an unpleasant drug as our bodies separated, the hug concluding
prematurely, in
my mind
, at least. It had probably been the perfect amount of length; I just was too caught up to know for sure.

Jack smiled and headed off. There was no explicit goodbye. It was an omission that only served to make me even more excited about our upcoming date.

"Thanks for the gifts," I shouted to him as he got farther away. He lifted his hand to signify that he heard.

***

Sam didn't say anything else to me the rest of the day, only asking if I had any of the chocolates left.

"You really think I could eat
all hundred of those, Sam? There were a lot in there."

He laughed uncontrollably and left again, realizing that I had taken them home. Sam seemed slightly more relaxed today, but I had no idea why. He didn't appear to be carrying as much tension in his shoulders.

I was afraid to say anything with regard to Jack, worried that just mentioning his name would implicate me in some sort of crime—or even worse, remind him that my secret admirer's name started with the letter J.

I left the office on time and headed home, walking as briskly as possible after I got off the last train. Jack was supposed to send a cab to my house to pick me up when it was time. I just needed to
pick out something cute and casual to wear and I'd be all set to meet him.

After grabbing my favorite pair of jeans from the closet, I picked out a low-cut blouse. Normally, I would I have sought to be a little more conservative than that, but it was comfortable, and Jack had insisted that I be comfortable. Plus, there was nothing wrong with showing some cleavage. I had the boobs, so why not enjoy '
em?

I tidied up my hair/touched up my make-up and then sent Jack a text that said I was ready. Ten minutes after that, I headed downstairs and hopped in the cab that was
there waiting for me. It was just as he promised.

The driver was very friendly, so friendly that he probably would have told me exactly where we were headed
had I asked. I wanted a surprise, however, so I kept my mouth shut. I just wouldn't know where we were going until we got there.

Excitement
bloomed inside of me, every passing block only making it worse. I was giddy as hell—this wasn't like a date I was used to.

The
destination turned out to be a casual bar and grill sort of restaurant. Being new to the city, I had never been to it. The line in front of the building was a good sign, however. Jack was standing right in front of the crowd, his hair perfectly messy, his jeans perfectly tight. He opened the cab door for me.

"Effie! So nice of you to join me! You look terrific."

"Couldn't you have sent a limo?" I asked jokingly, instinctively deflecting his compliment and putting the attention on something less serious. I wasn't ready to start blushing.

"Next time," he said.

"Jack!" I complained, knowing that he probably wasn't kidding. He extended his arm and I accepted it, emerging into the warm night air.

Jack handed some cash to the driver and then led me inside, cutting through the rows of people waiting to get in. The interior was pretty much what I would have expected. There was a stage for live music and an expansive bar. Jack had a table for us near the stage, one that seemed exclusive, even if it wasn't. I couldn't tell if he was
privileged here, or if he just made the proper reservations.

We started with a couple of drinks—he got a Manhattan again; I got a gin and tonic—and with their arrival came his inquisition.

"Effie, I want to know about you. Why are you here? Why are you giving me a chance? I'm sure tons of guys bother you all the time." It was the first round of drinks, so I couldn't blame it on the alcohol—
yet
.

I was taken aback by his forwardness, but I liked that he was being blunt. It blew my mind that he was asking
me
about being hit on, because I wanted to ask the same of him. He was the music star while I was just nothing. Maybe it was just him manipulating me, but even if it was, I liked it. It leveled the playing field entirely by making us both equal.

No lie emerged from my lips, even though I felt that his question was
a little unjustified this early on. I was as honest as possible with him, withholding no details, keeping no secrets. When I mentioned my history with Timothy, he laughed.

"I know people like that," he said. "You made the right decision. It might have been okay for a year, but then you'd start realizing what you missed out on." Despite his preaching to the choir, I really appreciated his
sympathy. It felt warm and genuine, even if it was redundant.

"I didn't even get that far. I just didn't want to do it." I sipped my drink, thankful that it was strong in that moment. Some of these memories were
heavy
to say the least, so it helped me keep moving forward.

"Well, it sounds like you got out of it okay. That's always a positive. Do you like it here?"

"I guess so," I said. "It hasn't been that long."

"Sure. Right." He took a big gulp of his drink and then moved to a sip of water. "I do like quieter places much better. The city certainly has its appeal, though, especially from a business perspective."

I watched him all night with great fascination, amazed at the things he knew about. He was so charming, so endlessly clever and bold. It was obvious why he had been able to succeed in the music business. Even if he had been telling me about quantum physics, it would have been the best lecture I'd ever listened to.

"Jack, how old are you?" I asked. The question seemed appropriate given everything else leading up to it.

"Guess," he said.

"Twenty-eight."

"Exactly right." His smile was deceiving.

"You're a liar."

"I'm thirty, all right?" He lowered his head, solemnly staring into the surface of the table. "When we're done here, we can go plan my funeral. I know a couple of good funeral homes in the area." He broke into a laugh that swelled over the roar of conversation in the restaurant.

I giggled in response, his silliness utterly contagious. "Talking about your own death is a
great
way to win over a girl on the first date." It was incredible to realize how much he had experienced in such a few short years after his success started rolling. He was only six years older than I was, and already he had done more than I would have done in ten lifetimes.

One thing was for sure—he had grown weary of huge companies within the music and film industries. He talked more about his career than
his private life, but I wasn't ready to ask him anything too personal, despite the fact that he'd already dug into my past. He was fighting for artists who just didn't have a voice against huge corporate entities.

His passionate fight was kind of
sexy
, no doubt. It made me want to go out and protest something too, just anything, really. Monsanto, the government, other big corporations...

Anyhow, the conversation was perfect. I wanted to enjoy, not overanalyze. We ate, continuing to drink throughout the whole meal. By the time the table was cleared, the live music for the night had begun. It was a female singer-songwriter, one brandishing an acoustic guitar and a humble attitude. She began singing, and I just had to turn my head.

"She's great," I said. "Her voice is beautiful!" Hell,
she
was beautiful too. A cute little brunette, one wearing a pair of torn up jeans and a hoodie. I felt as if I were hearing something already produced for the radio, a product so pristine and nice that it would sell millions—if people could only find it. "Have you heard her before?"

"I might have," Jack said quietly. "There are lots of people like her in NYC, one for every coffee shop on every night.
Maybe two or three for every coffee shop." It was a little more snide than I had expected from him.

"What do you think of her? I think she's great." Despite Jack's disinterest, I couldn't believe that I was hearing original music of this caliber so randomly. These people with acoustic guitars were a dime a dozen, just like he had said. I had been to so many gigs—everyone had a friend who started a band that wasn't any good; you just had to go so you didn't hurt their feelings—with the most boring, bland music ever, and this was the total opposite. It wasn't just the alcohol either.

Maybe that's why people were lined up outside...

"I'm not going to make a judgment prematurely, especially when we're talking about careers that need to last a lifetime. Just because someone can write one good song doesn't mean they can actually make it. This industry is brutal."

I didn't really like how stiff and boring he was being about her.
He
was supposed to be the expert, and yet, here I was, gushing over this person whom I was convinced would soon become a superstar while he acted like she was no big deal. Why wouldn't he take my opinion seriously? I felt very strongly about it, something unusual for me in regards to music.

The girl played through a full set, gorgeous song after gorgeous song, the lyrics as captivating as her incredible voice. I was convinced that I was witnessing
perhaps the next Sheryl Crow, Alanis Morissette, or Adele. These songs were so well put together that I could already hear full arrangements in my head, lush productions with drums and guitars and keyboards—and it was actually kind of weird.

Jack continued to sit there, so stone-faced and bored-looking. I was suddenly having doubts about him, finding it was so weird that he couldn't connect with this incredibly emotional performance taking place in front of him.

Was he even human? Why was he acting so disinterested?

I could feel every word she sang, the topics ranging from misery to sheer joy, the sort of visceral word play that any listener could relate to. I started to lose myself in thought, analyzing Jack's behavior when I heard the performer speak.

"I would especially like to thank my producer, agent, and co-writer,
Jack Teller
. I wouldn't be anywhere without his help." The crowd clapped politely as Jack burst out laughing, accidentally spitting water on himself. A few people from the crowd looked over to him, probably because of the water spitting and not because they recognized him.

He had been playing me
the whole time
!

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wanted to get your honest opinion without influencing you. If I told you that she was my artist, you would have just been nice whether you really liked her or not."

"You're so full of shit!" I was offended that he felt that way—I also realized that he was
totally
right. I wasn't going to admit it, though. The whole performance felt very different now, tinged with a brand new hue.