“No, we’ll be out there, with people watching us. What if I embarrass him?”
A date meant restaurants and crowds. A date meant being vulnerable and honest and learning to rediscover her humanity. Until now, Josie had been free to be a societal vagabond, answering to nothing and no one. She never felt like she could operate within the realm of the law-abiding, white bread squares of today’s population. She feared that no matter what clothes she wore, they would see straight through to what she really was—trash.
“I have a feeling you could never embarrass him, Josie. You certainly don’t see yourself clearly.”
“What the hell am I’m doing?” Josie cried.
“Josie, calm down. Tons of girls go on dates every day. I’ve probably been on hundreds of dates. Look at me. It eventually led to Mr. Right. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not tons of girls,” Josie said, taking a deep breath. “I’m Josie Banks, fuckup extraordinaire.”
Monica cautiously placed a hand on each shoulder and looked into her brown eyes. She stilled her gum chomping and gave Josie a smile.
“You are not a fuckup. You are fierce and intelligent and one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.” She pulled Josie up and spun her toward the mirror. “You are stunningly beautiful and mysterious and every other thing that men love.”
The two women’s gazes met through the mirror’s reflection, each wishing to understand the other more clearly. Josie longed to see the things Monica saw. She wanted to believe those praising words and attach them to herself like tags.
“Something’s missing. Oh! I know!” Monica screeched, startling Josie.
Monica dug into her oversize bag and pulled out what looked like a tackle box. Josie watched with amazement as she rifled through the thing, picking through each compartment in search of a specific item.
“There,” Monica said as she stepped to Josie and slid a silk flower barrette into her hair.
Monica stepped to the side and turned Josie toward the mirror. The girl’s eyes landed on her reflection, and for a moment she couldn’t identify the stranger staring back. This time, she could see a beautiful and happy girl. Having no patience for daydreams, she pressed her fingers to the glass to verify that it was real. There was a new light to her eyes, an unfamiliar lift to the corners of her mouth. She could almost pass for human.
A knock jolted her out of her scrutinizing. Her heart drummed against her chest and she felt pulled across the room toward the door. She could already feel his energy, his fantastical command over her body. The clicking of her heels against the hardwood floor counted off her steps toward Tristan. After sliding all the locks free, she threw open the door.
Tristan stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously jingling his keys. Her eyes started at his feet, noticing his shoes, then his jeans, then losing all patience and skipping directly to his face. He’d shaved his face clean and now the edge of his jaw looked so sharp and masculine, like it had been chiseled free from one solid piece of stone. His eyes shone like emeralds.
“Wow, you look amazing, Stems.”
Her smile turned up in reaction to the nickname. Tristan’s eyes took in every inch of her form, from the black top clinging to her hips down to her red high heels. Her brown eyes, lined in thick black lashes, seemed to shine. The red flower in her hair lent sweetness to her otherwise sultry, temptress appearance.
Monica came barreling past, an enormous bag slung over her shoulder, stopping between the two of them.
“Here,” Monica said, handing her a small red clutch. “I put all your essentials in there, so you shouldn’t need anything else. I’ll get my stuff back from you sometime next week.”
Monica spun to face Tristan, completely shocked by his appearance. He was not what she had expected. His presence was grand and so masculine while his smile made him appear beautiful and almost childlike.
“I’m Tristan,” he said.
“You certainly are,” she answered, slipping her hand into his. “I’m Monica. You guys have fun tonight.”
Monica trotted down the steps and out of sight, leaving the two alone in her doorway.
“Ready?” Tristan asked.
She nodded and locked the door, taking his hand as they descended the single flight of stairs. Tristan led her to his classic car parked at the curb. He opened the door and let her slide in before making his way around to the driver’s seat.
Josie felt something beneath her and scooted up to retrieve another one of Tristan’s books. She held it up to him as he took a seat.
“Do you read in the car?” she asked.
His lips curled up on one side, a wordless answer. Josie tossed the book onto the backseat and shook her head.
“I guess I should be happy you’re addicted to books and not something like crack whores.”
“Nah. I gave them up for Lent this year,” Tristan joked.
“Are you Catholic?” Josie asked.
“No, but I’ve read the Bible.”
“You mean you have that entire book memorized?”
“Ephesians 6:12. ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”
“Wow,” Josie said. “How do you do that?”
Tristan laughed and turned the key.
“I don’t do it. I’m just built that way.”
The car rumbled to a thunderous start. He glanced at Josie’s reaction, watching her denim-covered legs cross and then uncross. His baby always had that effect on ladies. At first, they’d be dazzled by her cherry red paint, clean lines, and whitewall tires. It wasn’t until they were seated in the plush vinyl seat, and she kicked to life, that they fully understood her appeal.
Josie fidgeted nervously, stunned by the feel of the pulsating seat beneath her. She let her mind drift to their possible destinations and felt her anxiety go into overdrive. The idea of being in a crowded place with tons of whispered conversations surrounding them terrified her. Too many people, too many faces and eyes to see her. The thought left her reeling.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked, blowing out a breath.
“A quiet place with a fantastic view,” Tristan answered, slipping his hand over hers.
She took a deep breath and exhaled again, letting her apprehension and worries slip away into the black night sky. His words and touch soothed her. It was as if he knew what she needed before she did.
9. Albedo
A measure of reflective power.
They sat at the last table on the patio at Edgewater Grill. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but the low hum of surrounding conversations was enough to give the couple a sense of sociability. Utensils wrapped in soft linen sat just below the water glasses. A single candle marked the center of the table, its flickering warm light washing the two in swaying shadows and a honey-yellow glow. Sporadically, the salty breeze would drift in from the bay, bringing with it the cooler ocean air and a breath of repose.
Tristan ordered a Stella Artois and Josie asked for a glass of red wine.
“What kind of red would you like, miss?”
Josie glanced at Tristan and back at the expectant waiter; she didn’t know the answer. Monica had advised her that self-respecting women ordered wine at dinner and did not get so drunk they had to be carried out. Just as panic began to overwhelm her, Tristan rescued her from embarrassment.
“She’ll have the 2007 Talisman Vineyard Pinot Noir. Thanks.”
“Of course,” the waiter said before smiling tightly and turning to fetch their drinks.
Following more of Monica’s instructions, Josie unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap. She kept her elbows off the table and sat stiffly in her chair. Glancing over the menu, she felt a bit overwhelmed by the choices and the prices attached to them.