Songbird (5 page)

“
From your great-grandmother?”

She nodded. “From my great-grandmother. I was named after her, and was lucky enough to get some of her prized possessions.”

“
Well, she had excellent taste in furniture and jewelry. And in great-granddaughters.”

He lifted one hand to the slope of her neck, sifted his fingers through her hair, and held it up to the light, watching as the gleaming strands fell softly back to her shoulders. He stared down at her for a long moment, his hand poised in midair, fingers tense and contracting.

Adrenaline pumped through Desiree’s body as her eyes locked with his. What was going on in his mind?

A shiver tiptoed up her spine and her pulse quickened, as if anticipating a plunge into deep, icy waters. She blinked and lowered her eyes to his full, beautifully shaped lips. For some reason her thoughts scattered like petals in the wind and she struggled to reorganize them.

He lowered his hand and took a step back. She sighed with relief. Or was it regret?

“
What do you say we go eat?” he said. “I'm starving.”

Three

They sat at a window-side table, overlooking the wide expanse of white beach and rolling surf one flight of stairs below. Desiree had never been inside Maximilian’s, although she’d often admired its stunning blend of plate glass and California redwood when she passed by during an evening walk on the Huntington Beach pier.

The interior was both comfortable and sophisticated with its nautical theme, tables draped in royal-blue, solid oak chairs, and vases of chrysanthemums scattered about.

She’d noticed several women’s heads turn as she and Kyle made their way through the crowded restaurant to their table. No wonder. Kyle was easily the best-looking man in the room.

Their conversation flowed as smooth as the wine. The waiter, when he stopped to take their order, apologized for intruding, which made them laugh. Kyle seemed to want to know every-thing about her, and she was equally fascinated by him, each new and exciting detail of his life only whetting her appetite to learn more.

“
How long have you been working at KICK?” Kyle asked after the waiter had served bowls of thick clam chowder.

“
Two years.”

“
I read a review of your show in the
Times
on the flight down this morning. You’re quite a celebrity.”

“
Not really.” She shrugged. “It’s a pretty small station. Few people recognize me by voice, and nobody knows me by sight. Thank goodness.”

“
What do you mean, thank goodness?” Kyle sipped his wine. “I thought all performers liked to be recognized.”

“
Not me. My voice—I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s so...throaty and low. It doesn’t match up with the rest of me. People have kidded me about it since I was twelve. My listeners seem to expect some tall, curvaceous beauty. You can imagine how disappointed they are when they meet me.”

He fell silent, watching her. “I wasn’t disappointed,” he said softly.

She felt a flutter in her stomach and wanted to look away, but couldn’t bring herself to break their eye contact. “You weren’t?”

He shook his head. “I think your voice fits you perfectly.” He seemed to want to say more.

She held her breath, waiting, wondering again what he was thinking. How would she respond if he told her she was beautiful? Would she believe it if
he
said the words?

He glanced away. She swallowed her disappointment.

“
While you were getting dressed, I took a look at your library,” he said, picking up his knife and spreading sweet butter on a chunk of crusty sourdough bread. “Very impressive.”

“
My library?” She let go a short laugh. “You mean the books piled on the coffee table, or the ones stacked three-deep on the shelves?”

“
Both. I saw quite a few of my favorite contemporary authors and titles. And you have all the classics that I love and re-read all the time: Shakespeare, Austen, Dumas, Dickens, Twain, and Carroll.”

She smiled with delight as she took a spoonful of chowder. “I ran out of shelf space long ago, but books are like best friends. I can’t stand to part with any of them.”

“
Me neither. My whole living room’s lined with bookshelves. Reading’s the best kind of company for someone living on their own.”

“
I know what you mean. Reading keeps me from noticing how lonely I am. I read while I eat, before I go to sleep—”

“
It does get lonely, doesn’t it?”

She froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. His eyes locked with hers across the table.

“
Do you like living alone?” he asked softly.

A current of awareness seemed to travel across the space between them. She lowered her eyes, toyed with the blue linen napkin in her lap. “I don’t mind it. I’ve been alone for five years. I guess I’m used to it by now.” She laughed lightly. “I’d better be used to it, anyway. I tried marriage once. It didn’t even last a year. I’ll never try it again.”

“
Never say
never
. Maybe you just married the wrong man.”

“
I don’t think so. The divorce was inevitable, no matter who I’d married.” She hoped he wouldn’t pursue the subject further. She considered the last months before the divorce to be the lowest point in her life. She preferred to forget them.

“
How about you?” she asked. “Have you ever been married?”

“
No.”

“
Really? Thirty years old and never been hitched?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Thirty-five. But thanks for the compliment.”

She expected him to add more, to explain that he, too, was against the idea of marriage. After all, she reasoned, a man this handsome, this charming and successful, could hardly have escaped marriage unless he had an aversion to the institution in general. But he said nothing for several heartbeats, just continued to look at her over the rim of his wineglass.

She felt her skin grow hot under his gaze and she glanced out the window beside them, where the setting sun painted a watercolor wash of purple, pink, and gold across the sky. A few hardy surfers still sat astride their boards, rising and failing on the water’s dark surface like bobbing ducks.

“
I guess we can’t get married, anyway,” he said.

Her eyes flew up to meet his, astonished by the stab of disappointment those words had brought.

“
We’d have two copies of every book in the house,” he teased.

She laughed. “True. It’d be so...redundant. And since I can’t throw anything away, it’d create quite a storage problem.”

He grinned in response but didn’t comment. She had no idea what to say next. To her relief, the waiter chose that moment to arrive with their dinners. For Desiree: a platter of mesquite-broiled halibut, with wild rice, French-cut green beans, and honeyed carrots on the side. When the waiter placed Kyle’s meal before him, she felt a pang of envy rise in her chest. He’d ordered lobster. Fresh American lobster, flown in that morning from Maine.

“
Ahh. Look at this beauty.” Kyle spread his cloth napkin across his lap. The lobster reclined on a bed of rice in reddish-orange splendor, head and tail intact, arched shell up. The detached claws, already cracked, were arranged beside a cup of melted butter. She could smell its rich scent across the table.

She watched him pierce a wedge of lemon with his fork and squeeze it into the butter. Her mouth watered. He used the fork to scoop a large piece of white meat from one claw, dipped it into the lemon butter and lifted it to his lips. He caught her eye and stopped, the fork poised in midair.

“
I
told
you to order the lobster,” he said.

It was true. The waiter had also highly recommended it. But the complimentary dinner pass stated plainly that lobster was not included. Favorite food or no, they came for a free dinner, and she insisted that at least one of them should take advantage of it. Besides, she could eat for half a week for the same price.

“
This is fine,” she said. She quickly tasted a piece of halibut. Firm. Meaty. Mildly flavorful. One hundred and ninety-four calories per four ounce serving. The healthier choice. “Delicious,” she lied.

“
Try this.” Kyle extended his forkful of lobster across the table.

“
Your first bite? No, I couldn’t—” Before she could protest further, he popped the morsel into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed, savoring the moist, buttery flavor.

“
Oh, yum,” she said. “A rare treat. It’s been ages.” She heard his laugh, followed by a scraping sound. When she blinked open her eyes, the lobster stared back at her. Her own plate sat in front of Kyle.

“
I got a sudden, uncontrollable craving for halibut.” He picked up the plastic bib the waiter had brought, leaned forward, and tied it around Desiree’s neck. “This looks better on you than it would on me, anyway.”

Her eyes widened. “No, Kyle. I wouldn’t dream of taking your dinner.”

“
Go ahead. Enjoy.”

Hesitantly, she added, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“
I’m sure.”

She pounced. Picking up the lobster’s steaming shell in two hands, she turned it soft side up and arched it until the tailpiece pulled loose from the body. With one deft movement she bent back the tail flipper section until it cracked off. She lifted the tailpiece downside up, expertly inserted the lobster fork through the hole left by the flippers and pushed the tail meat out through the open end.

“
I can see,” he said, watching her, “just how rarely you get lobster.”

“
It’s only been rare recently.” She took a bite, pausing for a moment of appreciative silence as she chewed and swallowed. “I lived in Maine for a year and a half. Every chance I got, I’d buy a lobster or two at the wharf. Three dollars a pound, plucked right out of the tank, and cooked while you wait.”

His eyes never left her face. “No wonder you can’t stand the prices here.”

She broke off one of the lobster’s legs, softly closed her mouth around the open end. With lips and tongue she slowly and gently sucked out the contents. Across from her and watching, Kyle drew a single breath that was out of rhythm with the others. His green eyes glittered with sudden brightness, and a smile lingered on his mouth.

All at once aware of what he might be thinking, Desiree felt her cheeks flush red and hot. She swallowed hard. Picking up one of the legs, she held it out to him. “Would you like to share?”

He shook his head. “Not just now.” Finally he picked up his knife and fork.

As they enjoyed the meal, they talked. Desiree found herself relaxing as the conversation moved from one topic to another. They discovered they liked the same movies, listened to similar music, and both enjoyed the theater. She told him about the wonderful Victorian house in Pasadena where she grew up, and how sad she’d been when her parents sold it and moved to Florida.

Kyle had lived in Seattle all of his life, he said. His parents and most of his relatives still lived there.

“
Washington’s beautiful. Everything’s green all year round. From my office window on the tenth floor I’ve got a fantastic view of downtown and Elliot Bay. When the sun shines, the sky is the bluest blue you’ve ever seen.”

“
Do you come to Southern California very often?” she asked.

“
I’ve been down here a few times. But it’s too hot for me.”

“
Not always. Today you could have fried pancakes on the sidewalk, but generally it’s mild and wonderful—and at times, I’ll bet our sky’s as blue as yours.”

“
I’ve seen days where it comes close,” he admitted. He folded his napkin on the table and sat back in his chair. “But I’d still never leave Washington state. I like having four seasons.”

“
Well, after a few summers in Tucson and winters in Detroit and Bangor, Maine, I’ll take this weather any day. I don’t know how long my gig will last, but I’m grateful to be here, especially since I finally got my own drive time show. Seven years of nights is enough for anyone.”

“
Seven years? Why’d it take so long to get a decent shift?”

“
There’s a built-in prejudice in this business against women. We’re stuck with the worst hours for the least pay. Midnight to dawn—they still call it the Women’s Shift. And that’s one of the nicer names for it.” Five years ago, she explained, you rarely heard a woman on the air during the afternoon, even in Southern California. “They’re a bit more progressive here. Most deejays would kill for the chance to work in L.A. or Orange County. It’s the hottest market in the country.”

“
Why? Because you’re so close to the television and film industries?”

“
That’s a big part of it. A jock with a good voice can earn good money on the side in commercials, voice-overs, and animation—or so I’m told, I haven’t explored that yet. But the biggest attraction here is the pay scale.” She finished her wine. With instinctive awareness Kyle reached for the bottle and raised an eyebrow in her direction. At her nod, he refilled her glass.

“
AFTRA, our union, takes care of us,” she went on, “sees to it that we have decent wages and working conditions. Other markets aren’t so lucky. Just a few years back, I was working ridiculous hours for starvation wages.”