Until I Saw Your Smile (11 page)

Yoked? That's a little severe, isn't it?
“I'm not talking about yoking with you.”
Is yoking legal in New York?
“I'm talking about another date, just you and me, out somewhere and away from here, where we can talk and get to know each other better.”

“I . . . I can't, Matthew,” she said, turning away. “I will . . . I will pray for you.”

She's weakening.
“But Mary, how will you convert me if I'm not around for you to convert?”

“You can come to services,” she said to the wall.

“I'd rather have one-on-one conversations with you, Mary,” Matthew said. “Just the two of us. Even if only on the phone. What nights
don't
you go to church?”

“Mondays,” Mary said. “Pastor needs a day to rest.”

“Okay, how about we go somewhere next Monday?” Matthew asked.

Mary sighed heavily, turning to face him. “You haven't been listening to me. We can't go anywhere together until you're saved.”

Matthew cleared the pie plates to the side and leaned on the desk. “I hear what you're saying, Mary, but your body keeps contradicting what you're saying. You say ‘no,' but your body is saying ‘yes.' And your body is definitely talking louder than your voice is. Even now.”

“Please go,” Mary whispered.

Not yet.
Matthew moved around the desk and took her left hand in his right. “I'm happy you're a changed woman, Mary, I really am. I used to be an asshole.”

Mary didn't remove her hand from his. “Matthew, we're in a church,” she whispered.

“Sorry, God.” He squeezed her hand. “Mary, I used to sue people into bankruptcy for a living, and I was good at it. Ruining other people's lives made me happy. One day, I hated what I had become, so I gave all that up to work for people who really needed my help. I did that for three rewarding years at Brooklyn Legal until I burned out from all the misery and went out on my own. I changed the way I did things and the way I lived, but I really didn't change the real me.” He lifted her chin with his left hand. “I like you, Mary. I'd like to get to know you better. You are so beautiful it hurts me.”

“It . . . does?”

“Yes.”

Mary pulled her hand away and leaned back in her chair. “You shouldn't have said that.”

“Held your hand or told you what's been going through my head?”

“Both.” She folded her hands together.

Matthew stood behind his chair. “So I shouldn't show you affection or tell you the truth?”

Mary pushed her chair into the desk, resting her arms in front of her. “I'm, I'm already spoken for, Matthew.”

“I know, I know,” Matthew said. “You have Jesus in your heart.”

“No, I mean, yes, that's true,” Mary said. “But Matthew, I'm spoken for by someone else.”

And yet she asked me out? What's going on?
“You have a boyfriend?”

Mary looked at her hands. “Well, no, not exactly.” She looked up briefly. “It's hard to explain. I am interested,
very
interested, in someone else.”

“Why'd you ask me to dinner then?” Matthew asked.

“To save your soul,” Mary said.

“You asked me out to eat so you could tell me I'm going to hell,” Matthew said. “How is that supposed to save me?”

“By telling you where you'll end up if you don't change your ways,” Mary said. “But that was only part of the reason I asked you to dinner. I also needed . . . to speed things up.”

I am so lost.
“To speed what up?”

“To make him jealous.” She looked toward the door.

No . . . way.
“To make who jealous?”

Mary shook her head. “Pastor Jean.”

This . . . this is really happening. Mary has a crush on her pastor.
“You . . . and Pastor.”

“It's not like that,” Mary whispered.

“How is it like?” Matthew asked.

“Pastor is a wonderful man,” Mary said. “I owe him. He saved me from a life of sin.”

“I thought Jesus did.”

“Well, yes, of course Jesus did,” Mary said, “but Pastor made it clear to me so that I'd repent.”

“So you and he are . . . seeing each other.”

“Not yet.” She smiled. “Soon, I hope.”

Not yet?
“Does Pastor Jean even know how you feel about him?” “I think so,” Mary said. “I hope so.”

How pitiful!
“So you don't know how he feels.”

“He doesn't seem to love his wife at all,” Mary said.

His . . . wife.
“Pastor Jean . . . is married. You don't see a problem with that?”

“No,” Mary said. “His wife is all about money. She grew up in New Rochelle. She grew up with money. Pastor says this church needs more money. I'm the treasurer, so I ought to know, right? There's never enough money. Pastor wants to expand his ministry, and he has so many great ideas for the community, but her greed is getting in the way of his work.”

“You mean
God's
work, right?” Matthew asked.

“Which are one and the same,” Mary said.

Are they in every case? I doubt it.
“Pastor Jean sounds like an amazing guy. Quite iconic.”
Now, where is the exit? Oh, it's right behind me.

“Oh, he is, but his wife is slowing us down,” Mary said. “She's taking nearly
half
of our offerings to use on their house in Beech-mont Woods.”

And?
“I'm sure the good pastor has a say in that, too. And anyway, isn't she entitled?”

“This
church
needs that money,
not
her,” Mary said. “I know I'd be a better holy helpmate to Pastor than she will ever be.”

This is beyond twisted.
“But you're not even sure how he feels about you.”

Mary sighed. “I'm not sure he even notices me.”

The man would have to be blind.
“I'm sure he does, Mary, but I'm also sure his wife has noticed you. You kind of stick out.”

“I have been trying to . . . attract him,” Mary said. “But he hardly even looks at me.”

If his wife is around, Pastor Jean can't risk even looking sideways at you.
“Did you ever think that maybe he values his marriage and that he truly loves his wife?”

“She's too worldly for him to love her,” Mary said. “You should see what
she
wears. She's shameless. Her dresses are cut all the way up to her hips. Pastor couldn't love his wife. He's only staying with her for appearances.”

Or Pastor knows that Mary has a crush on him and will
never
mess up the church's finances as a result. It's actually kind of shrewd of him.
“So you thought you could use
me
to make Pastor Jean jealous.”

“Right,” Mary said. “When you showed up last Sunday, I said to myself, ‘He's a lawyer, he's got money, the church needs money, money will make Pastor happy, get him to come back.' ”

Mary is extremely devious, too. Her past isn't that far behind her.
“You thought all that?”

Mary nodded. “And I also said to myself, ‘He's kind of cute, he likes to stare at me, he's probably a heathen going to hell, so maybe I can get him saved and contributing
lots
of money.' ”

I'm not that kind of lawyer anymore.
“You say . . . amazing things to yourself.”

“Matthew, I'm thirty-seven,” Mary said. “If I don't get a man soon, I'll be like the other old, unmarried fossils in this church sitting in the back praising God and lusting after Pastor.”

“That would be a tragedy, Mary.”
It would be. She is exquisite.

Organ music wafted into the room.

“Does this mean prayer meeting is starting?” Matthew asked.

“Yes.” She stood. “Are you going to stay? Please say you will.”

No.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to stay at an all-night prayer meeting so my mere presence will make a married pastor so jealous that he'll divorce his allegedly greedy wife and marry you, knowing that it will do nothing but serious damage to his ministry.”

“God has been known to work in mysterious ways, Matthew,” Mary said.

Wow. And I thought I was lost.
“Mary, even God does not work in
adulterous
ways. I will pray for
you,
Mary Primm.”

Matthew raced to the 2 train platform as the sky darkened.

Matthew checked the time on his phone and smiled.

Chapter 9

A
ngela's place was nearly empty by the time Matthew arrived forty-five minutes before closing. A sexy, light-skinned woman sat in the first booth facing the window, two large, frothy mugs of coffee in front of her. She had long straight hair to her chest, high cheekbones, and blue-gray eyes.
That woman could be a model.

“It's not a weekend, Matthew,” Angela called out. “You're spoiling me.”

Matthew strode up to the counter. “I needed a break.” He handed her a twenty. “This is for a tall cup of your house blend, two raspberry pastries if you have them, half a dozen of those chocolate chip cookies, and whatever I didn't pay for on Saturday.”

“Those pastries were my gift to you,” Angela said.

“Then put my change in the tip jar,” Matthew said.

“Gladly.” Angela made change and stuffed a few bills into the jar. “Will this generous tip cost
me
anything?”

Ah. A little
quid pro quo. “You must give me one good tip, one good piece of advice about women before the night is through.”

“I'm closing soon,” Angela said.

“Okay. Make it a good, quick tip then.” Matthew drummed his fingers on the counter.

She handed him his coffee. “What makes you think I'll give you a good tip about women?”

“You're a woman, and I have faith in you.” He took a sip. “Delectable as always.” He looked at the front booth. “Another regular?”

“An irregular regular,” Angela said. She bagged the cookies and the pastries.

“Meaning?”

“There's something wrong with her,” Angela said. “I can't put my finger on it, but she always seems to be on the verge of tears. She has sad puppy eyes, you know? She's been here just about every night for the last few weeks at this time, and she just sits there, alone, with two mugs of coffee. I'm not sure, but I get the impression she gets stood up a lot. She's always watching out the window. I never see her with anybody.”

That's not a woman you stand up or leave alone for any length of time.
“Why would such a pretty girl have any reason to cry?”

Angela stared and blinked. “You don't need to be pretty to have a reason to cry.”

“I know that, Angela. I was just saying—”

“Why don't you go find out if you want to know so badly?” Angela interrupted.

That sounded like a challenge.
“I just might.”

Angela sighed and shook her head. “You want that tip now?”

“Sure.”

“Stay away from her,” she said.

That was pretty clear.
“I think I'm staying away from women for a while anyway.”

“Why?” Angela asked.

“I just had another date from hell.”
The third circle of hell, I think. Isn't that where Dante put the lusty?

“You had a date on a Wednesday night?” Angela asked.

Matthew nodded. “It was kind of a church date, actually. A Haitian woman in the Bronx was trying to use me to make her married pastor jealous so he'd commit adultery with her, and she had the nerve to tell me that
I
was going to hell.”

Angela squinted. “You have to be making this stuff up.”

Matthew held up his right hand. “God's honest truth.”

Angela smiled. “Where on earth do you meet these women?”

“Everywhere I go, it seems,” Matthew said.

“Everywhere except here,” Angela said.

That's true. Angela is so perceptive.
“You know, you're right. I've never had any trouble with a Williamsburg woman.”

“I meant . . . never mind.” Angela wiped the counter.

Matthew looked at the woman in the first booth. “Do you think Gray Eyes is from Williamsburg?”

“How do you know she has gray eyes?” Angela asked.

“I notice these things.” He turned to Angela. “Think she's a Billyburger?”

“I doubt it,” Angela said. “She sounds like she's from Long Island somewhere. I'm betting Hempstead or Massapequa.”

“But she evidently lives here now,” Matthew said softly.

“How would I know?” Angela said. “I don't card people.”

Ouch. Angela is in a bad mood.
“Doesn't her current address count?”

“Well, if she does live here, she's a transplant, a transient, an outsider,” Angela whispered. “She's not
from
Williamsburg, right?”

Like Joy.
“She could learn.”
Hmm. Joy never learned.

“And you're going to teach her,” Angela said.

Matthew smiled at Angela. “I might.” He finished his coffee and picked up his bag. “No. I
will.
”

“Now?” Angela asked. “You're going to teach her
now?
”

“Why not?”
The night is young.

“Wait, Matthew,” Angela said. “You want me to repeat my tip?”

“I will take it under advisement, counselor,” Matthew said.

“Stay away from her,” Angela said. “Don't say I didn't warn you, and you only have a few minutes to make your mistake. I close at eight.”

Matthew took his empty coffee cup and bag to the first booth. He had to walk in front of the woman to break her gaze out the window. “Hi.”

The woman's sad face lit up. “Hello.”

Yep. She's definitely from the suburbs. If I close my eyes, I'll hear the typical Long Island white girl.
“Isn't it kind of lonely drinking alone?”

The woman smiled. “I'm not alone now, am I?”

That was an open invitation to sit.
“And neither am I. May I join you?”

The woman slid to her right. “Please.”

And she wants me to sit next to her.
Matthew sat dangerously close to the woman's left leg. “I'm Matthew.”

“Allison.”

“Ten minutes!” Angela yelled.

Matthew turned to see Angela rapidly wiping tables and moving closer to the front of the shop. “We may be kicked out soon. It's almost closing time. Angela runs a tight ship.”

Allison cradled the fuller of the two mugs. “Yeah. And she makes the best coffee on earth.” She sipped her coffee, her sad, puppy eyes looking at Matthew.

“You want to . . . go somewhere, Allison?” Matthew asked.

Allison reached into a baggy black leather purse and pulled out two tickets. “You like hockey?”

A black woman who likes hockey. In Williamsburg. Allison is definitely a Long Island girl.
“Sure.” He looked closely at the tickets. “Hey, those are for tonight. The game's about to start.”

“I, um . . . I was supposed to meet someone . . .” Tears filled her eyes. “Sorry.”

Someone extremely evil stood up this woman. What an idiot! These tickets are in the first row! And it's against the Boston Bruins? What a schmuck!
“The jerk.”

“Yeah,” Allison said. “We were supposed to go out to eat first, too. This coffee is going straight to my brain.”

“Tell you what,” Matthew said. “We'll get a quick bite on the way to the game, and we'll be in our seats maybe by the beginning of the second period. What do you say?”

“I'd like that a lot, Matthew,” Allison said.

This woman has some delightful doe eyes.
Matthew looked up and saw Angela waiting by the door. “It must be eight o'clock. Ready?”

Allison gathered her purse and held out her hand. Matthew pulled her across the seat and to her feet.

Allison whipped a cell phone out of her purse. “I'll call us a cab. We can eat at TGIFriday's at the Garden. My treat.”

Matthew held the door, and Allison went outside to make her call.

“Remember what I told you,” Angela said.

“I hope you're wrong,” Matthew whispered.

Angela stepped closer. “I don't think I'm wrong about her. You see how eager she is?”

Yeah. Hmm. Monique and Jade were eager, too.
“Yeah, but I think you're wrong about her.”

“What if I'm right?” Angela asked.

“If you're right,” Matthew said, “I'll tell you all about it early tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

Angela laughed and took out a scrap of paper and a pen. “How do you like your eggs?”

“You're taking my order now?” Matthew asked.

“I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” Angela said. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy.”

“Bacon or sausage?” Angela asked.

“Surprise me.”

“Both then,” she said.

“It
might
work out,” Matthew said.

Angela shook her head. “You'll be waiting outside for me.”

She seems so sure.
“Wanna bet?”

“All right,” Angela said. “When I win this bet, and I
will,
you have to help me clean up the place for the next three days.”

“And when I win?” Matthew asked.

“You won't.” Angela smiled.

“And when I win,” Matthew continued, “you will provide me with free breakfast for three days.”

Angela shook his hand. “You gotta bet.” She turned his hand over. “You'll have to use some gloves. I wouldn't want your soft lawyer's hands getting calluses while you scrub my toilets.”

Allison returned to the doorway. “The taxi's here! Wasn't that quick?”

Matthew walked out and opened the taxi door, Allison scrambling inside.

“Be careful,” Angela mouthed from the doorway.

“Good night, Angela,” Matthew said.

“Promise,” Angela whispered.

“I promise,” Matthew mouthed.