Living Lies (19 page)

Adam picked up his dog and took a huge bite.

He nodded. “The best.”

Melanie smiled. How could she eat this and retain a sense of mystery about her? She couldn’t. Adam watched, grinning, as she picked up her hot dog and took a bite. She nodded her approval while using the side of her hand to wipe a glob of chili from her lip. Adam handed her a napkin. He’d taken his sunglasses off and their eyes locked. For that moment she felt she could read his mind and him hers. He was thinking about kissing her and her lips tingled in anticipation.

“Maybe I should have told you a different confession.”

“No, I liked that one. How about another?”

“Another? All right, but then it’s my turn to do the asking.”

“Fair enough.”

“Something about me, right? Okay, well, I’ve been looking at some property in L.A. to open my own restaurant. It’s a great building, old brick with lots of windows, a decent parking lot…”

His statement dropped off as he thought about the potential. If it was possible for him to become more attractive Melanie thought it had happened right at that instant.

He apologize for zoning out momentarily, then explained. “I’m meeting with the agent next week and I’ve been working out the offer for the past three days.”

“Wow, you don’t need to apologize. I think it’s great.”

“It’s a risk, but I’m really excited about it. So, now it’s your turn, tell me something about you.”

And that’s why this was a dangerous game. Her mind flipped through the possibilities. She wanted something with substance but was trying to avoid looking like an idiot. Melanie struggled with her minimal options.

“Okay, then, I’ve lived in the same apartment for eight years but I still don’t call it home. I’m never there,” she said, with a tinge of fear. It was not a habit to share information about her life with anyone, even more difficult was that she was telling the truth. But she continued, trying to make it light. “I don’t cook. My fridge is littered with old Chinese food boxes and maybe a moldy cube of cheese or a bottle of water. I clean it out only when I remember I have a refrigerator and that’s usually when I’m placing another half empty box of Kung Pao inside.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he stood and shook her hand.

Melanie laughed.

“You leaving?” asked a boy carrying a tray with three giant dogs.

“Sorry, buddy, but you can take that empty seat,” Adam said.

“Thanks.” He was a skinny, shirtless teenager with wet swim trunks that hung indecently off his slim hips.

“What kind of work do you do, Melanie?” Adam asked, after the kid settled in and consumed one of his hot dogs in two bites.

“I set up communications systems.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I travel to third-world countries and set up phone, internet and satellite systems for companies so they can capitalize on the cheap labor.”

“Noble.”

“Don’t judge,” Melanie said, raising her eyebrow.

“Okay, and for fun?” His smile captivating, even as his eyes laughed at her.

“I set up communication systems,” Melanie smiled, idiotically. “I don’t go out too much unless it’s work-related. Believe it or not I love my job.”

Melanie sat across from Adam, the first man she’d been interested in years, and now she was thrilled to be talking about work.

You’re sick, seriously demented – have you forgotten you quit?

“Would you want to walk to the water?” she asked, wanting nothing more than a distraction.

“Yeah, are you finished?” he asked, tossing their trash into the garbage.

The kid was downing his third dog when they walked toward the mayhem on the beach.

“How about we go somewhere less popular. My car is just around the corner.”

Around the corner and through a narrow alley Adam stopped at a black BMW X5.

“Nice car. I had no idea chefs were so highly compensated.”

“Only the good ones.” He opened her door and waited as she settled in on the soft leather seat.

The radio was off, though it was one of her tests; Dennis had played a classical CD, Phil had no car, Lee’s “Rose” had echoed Gloria Estefan and Ty, well, he had his own band, she was dying to find out what Adam’s radio was tuned to.

“Do you mind?” She asked pointing to the CD case in the center console.

“Go ahead.”

She felt him watching her as she flipped the pages. Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan and more Dylan. Who knew the guy had put out so many CDs?

“Approve?”

“Late ’70s classic rock and mostly from an artist I can’t even understand,” she laughed. “I guess it’s better than Britney or a collection of Broadway Musicals.”

“Okay, what’s on your iPod?”

“Christmas songs, only Christmas songs. It’s my favorite time of year,” she teased, to avoid a lie. There was no music on her iPod, just languages, biographies, and non-fiction psychological insight books. Who would want to date that?

The traffic from the beach spilled over onto the streets, the short drive to the bay longer than expected. Adam pulled off the congested street at the park.

“Can I ask about the woman you were with last night?”

“Daria is our hostess. I like to check out the new restaurants but I don’t like to go alone.” They settled down on the grass beneath the shade of a tall elm. “And what about your blind date?”

Oops.

“My mom’s idea.” She skimmed over her current situation, leaving out blocks of information.

“I can’t wait to meet your mom.”

The thought caused her heart to beat double time. Adam in the same room as Rita? The thought was horrifying and yet possible. She was liking this man more and more. He was intriguing, handsome and funny, and if she were looking then this would be exactly the right guy for her.

CHAPTER 11

Memories swept in like a hurricane the moment he walked into the apartment building. An odor from his past that he hadn’t noticed at the time, a mixture of burnt bread and cigar, caught in his lungs. Taking two steps at a time, he climbed to the empty apartment on the third floor. The scent faded as he climbed, but it had already provoked thoughts that he’d just as soon forget.

Distracted, he assembled his gun.

He remembered the boy, 19, in pain and full of regret, in the days leading up to the end of innocence. The boy amid “friends” in the living room of a brothel, pressured and wanting to try the drugs that were set out before him. Women giggled in the background, standing in doorways, ugly women and beautiful girls in scant lingerie. Leading men into the various bedrooms.

He had become a regular client but the drugs were new.

The killer of today closed his eyes and watched the boy, wanting to stop him before evil engulfed his mind and body. The killer wanted to shout at the boy to run, but in a well of depression, the boy could only see darkness and no longer cared if he lived or died.

The killer opened his eyes, leaving the boy to make all the wrong decisions.

The scope was set and adjusted. He sat on the metal folding chair next to the window and waited for the judge, a man in his mid-sixties with a full head of silver hair, a thick neck and an unwavering belief in justice.

Routinely, the killer didn’t know his marks, but this was different – a high-profile case involving brothers from Colombia. Drug lords with money and power. Closing his left eye, he waited for the judge, who stuck religiously to his rigid schedule and who would leave his New York City brownstone for the last time.

In a bright blue jogging suit, the judge stretched at the top of the steps, looked in both directions before grabbing his chest and gasping his final breath.

CHAPTER 12

“Melanie, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” she said, breaking from her trance.

“Well, your date is at the door. Didn’t you hear the bell?”

Melanie looked at her list to remind her of who the date was tonight. Nick Brody, a pilot, Carla’s selection.

“Hi, Nick Brody,” he said with a strong handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” Melanie quickly ushered him out the door, not wanting anyone to linger too long with her mother so near.

Nick wore dark jeans and a leather jacket and his short white hair curled at the ends and looked bright against his tan skin.

“I’m taking you to the hottest place in town,” he said as he drove faster than the speed limit. “My co-pilot had these reservations but wasn’t able to use them so he gave them to me.” Nick looked over at Melanie, then dropped his gaze down to her leg.

She did a quick check.
Yup, too much thigh exposed
. She shrugged, feeling generous.

The restaurant was quaint, with queen palms and a homey porch welcoming them inside. The outdoor tables were lit with tiny white lights twinkling in the trees overhead. An antique rust color warmed the dinning area, with painted grape vines climbing up to the bamboo ceiling fans. Tea lights flickered in votives on each table.

Nick spoke with the hostess and within minutes they were seated at a candlelit table for two.

Nick ordered drinks – a gin and tonic for him and a red wine for her – calling the waitress, “Honey,” as he’d done with the hostess who seated them.

“The food is supposed to be outstanding,” Nick said, his eyes following a woman’s rear as she passed their table. He looked back to Melanie without a hint of apology. “Did Carla tell you I’m retired military?” She shook her head.

“She said you were divorced at least once.”

“Twice. I flew for the Air Force for more than 20 years. Have you ever been up where the captain sits?”

She shook her head, lying.

“There’s nothing like the power of the cockpit,” Nick said, lifting his glass.

Melanie ignored his play on words, wink and the smirk on his smug face.

Nick spoke only of Nick and his adventures at 35,000 feet. He guzzled down three lowballs before their meal arrived – an array of pasta, grilled salmon and fresh vegetables.

Because of his monologue, Nick took twice as long as Melanie to finish his meal. She sipped her wine and was relieved when he declined dessert. Was there anything left to know about Nick Brody? She wondered and hoped to God he’d finish. But he continued on about how women love the thrill of sex during a flight. It was enough, Melanie stood. Nick dropped a couple of bills on the table and eagerly followed her into the cool night air.

“You’ll have to thank your co-pilot for me. The food was outstanding.”

“You have to thank me first,” Nick said, licking his bottom lip as he opened her car door. “Would you like to get a drink?”

It was still early and her momentary hesitation was a moment too long.

“My place,” Nick said, his fleshy cheeks rising with the upturn of his mouth. “I thought we could sit by the pool and get to know each other better. You could thank me there.”

Melanie groaned, “You are incredible.” She didn’t mean it as a compliment.

He shrugged his shoulders. “We’re two single, unattached adults. What’s the harm? Besides, I’m on an early flight to Heathrow in the morning.”

“You’re right,” Melanie smiled and shut the car door. “I’m over 30 with no prospects of a husband … and I’m ovulating. Sounds perfect. I’m ready, what about you,
Nick
?”

“That’s okay with me, Honey, I’ve been fixed,” he smiled.

She laughed. “You’re an ass.”

It was afternoon and the sun was still hidden behind an overcast summer sky. A breeze chilled the air and the whitecaps looked dramatic above the gray water. Melanie’s daily run had taken the same course it had yesterday. She ran quickly to the spots she’d spent with Adam and then slowed, picturing herself with him once again. Jason Johnson, her sixth date, had called to postpone until Sunday, giving her the opportunity to catch up with her friends.

Melanie called Carla as she strolled the last quarter mile of her run and gave her the update on Nick and his highly testosteroned view of women.

“I thought he’d be good for you, you both travel and are never home,” Carla said.

“Yeah, well, Nick is definitely out,” Melanie said, “but I think these dates are weakening my resolve. I honestly don’t know what would make me happy.”

“We all struggle with that question,” Carla sighed. “Was there anything redeemable about last night?”

“The food was out of this world. Have you been to Oscar’s Bistro? I had broiled swordfish with stuffed mushrooms.”

“It’s all the rage.”

“Did you read that in a headline?”

“Actually, I think I did. How about we go there tonight? I’ll have Ted’s rep call for a reservation and pick you up at 8.”

“Sounds great.”

“Bye, Hon.”

Melanie took her place in line at her now-favorite Starbucks. Lately she’d become a regular and was even greeted as such, her order being called out even before she spoke.

“Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” Melanie said as she answered her ringing phone.

“Hello.”

Melanie giggled, shaking her head in disgust at her idiocy, “Hi, Adam.”

“How are you?”

His deep voice was as smooth as melted chocolate. Her heart pounded as she managed her way through the slippery slopes of the English language, but she refused to behave like a 12-year-old girl gushing over a boy. Only her mother could reduce her to such childish theatrics.

“I’m terrific,” she said as she paced the sidewalk beside a towering tree whose roots had cracked the cement, making for dangerous terrain. “How are you?”

“I’m good. So, how was your date last night?”

“Let’s just say I’m glad there are only two left.” She didn’t particularly like discussing her dates with Adam. “I got home early and spent most of the night on my dad’s porch swing. You know what I miss?”

“What’s that?”

“Stars. When did they all fade?”

Though Carla flexed her political muscle, she couldn’t get a reservation that night. The woman on the phone suggested they show up in case of a cancellation – which, at a quarter to nine, they did.

Shocked, Melanie recognized Daria instantly. She was standing behind a mahogany pedestal wearing a slinky burgundy dress with spaghetti straps, her long blonde hair flowing down her bronzed shoulders. She presided over table assignments with her worn grease pencil like a warden under the Stalin regime. Melanie used an eight-foot potted tree as a screen, keeping an eye on Daria as she pretended to admire an oil painting with Jenny. Carla and Trish did their best to compel the hostess to find them a table for four.

“I’m sorry, but there are no tables available. I don’t know who would have told you to arrive without a reservation. We’re booked solid for weeks,” Daria said snootily.

“But we’re starving. Don’t you have seats at a bar or something?”

Daria rolled her cold brown eyes. “The best I can offer you is Monday, July second, if you can wait.”

“Now what?” Jenny asked, as they huddled in the parking lot.

“I say Burger King. I’m dying,” Trish suggested.

Melanie teetered on the curb, letting the three of them come up with a solution. She could still see Daria through the glass doors, guiding guests to their tables. Melanie knew that beneath that beautiful exterior resided a lunatic.

“Melanie?”

She felt a warm touch on her shoulder.

“Adam.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked, enfolding her lightly in his arms.

Disappointed, she held on for seconds longer. He didn’t pull away, but whispered, “Too many eyes here.”

His cheek rubbed against hers slowly, a private acknowledgment. Melanie closed her eyes. He smelled nice – delicious actually, garlic and lemongrass. His ability to evoke such emotion startled her and she ignored the red flags flying like confetti at a New York parade.

“This is where you work?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you?”

“No, but I just saw Daria.”

She pointed back through the glass but her eyes couldn’t turn away from him. His bright blue dress shirt, with the first two buttons undone and the cuffs rolled up, made her heart skip and her palms sweat.

Hell, Melanie, you’re becoming a desperate woman, losing IQ points just looking at him. But, God, he might be worth it.

He smiled. “You look incredible. Are you here with a date?”

“No, friends.”

Carla, Jen and Trish were still arguing over where to eat. She felt the need to justify.

“We don’t have a reservation and Trish wants to go to the Burger King on the corner but Carla is refusing to drive her there. Jen is on a diet and can’t eat carbs so I’m waiting for a compromise. You smell nice, by the way.” She added quickly not looking at him but at her friends who hadn’t yet noticed Melanie’s absence.

“Thanks,” he said, amused. “I think I can help with this. Come on.”

He held onto the tips of her fingers as they walked. Melanie tugged on Carla’s sleeve, motioning for them to follow.

“Daria, what can you do about getting these women a table?”

“Umm … let me see,” she said, clearly troubled. “Sure Mr. Chase I can do that for you.”

“You’re a sweetheart.”

Her big brown, “anything for you, Mr. Chase,” doe eyes narrowed like a Banshee as she recognized Melanie. Melanie felt the burn.

“Right this way, please,” Daria said, an artificial smile plastered on her unblemished face.

“Thanks, Daria,” he smiled and turned back to Melanie. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen but Daria will take care of you. We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

Anything you say, Mr. Chase.

“Tomorrow?” Carla mouthed, her eyes big.

“So, Daria, who is Mr. Chase?” Trish was asking as Melanie caught up.

“He’s our head chef,” she said, directing them to an empty table in the back and handing each of them a menu.

“He cooks?” Trish looked over to Jen.

“No, he designed our entire menu and created each dish personally. He is our
head
chef.”

“Then why doesn’t he wear the funny outfit?” Trish giggled and Daria sighed. Melanie could feel Daria’s eyes roll to the back of her head.

“How do you know this guy, Mel?” Carla asked.

“Clumsily, she drenched us with a bottle of wine and completely ruined my favorite dress,” Daria said before falling back into her prepared spiel. “Your waiter will be here shortly. Welcome to Oscar’s.”

The girls eyeballed each other, containing their giggles until Daria had turned the corner.

“You really spilled wine on them?”

Melanie nodded and told the story.

“No wonder she didn’t seem to like us very much,” Carla giggled.