“It’s pretty amazing. My mother wanted to find out who he was. The family had told her, via their attorney, that he’d died overseas and they gave her a two-flat, a Chicago-style duplex, as a sort of settlement. So she never expected to see him again on this planet. When it happened, when I discovered him while badgering the attorney’s office—”
“‘Badgering’? You?”
“When some high-end attorney starts brushing you off with obvious evasions it makes you pretty darn mad. I thought I might find his parents. My grandparents. I wanted no more to do with them than they had wanted to do with me thirty-five years ago. I only did it because my mother wanted closure and I thought that would be healthy for her. She’s never really tried for a real life of her own. So … I find him. And she wanted nothing more to do with it. Or him. Funny. I couldn’t have cared less until it happened.”
“So, what’s the story?”
“Ancient history. His family kept them apart, kept him ignorant of her, and me. He’s got a whole new family, and life. Seems like a decent guy. He feels pretty cheated too. My mother’s … not happy. I’m okay with it. I’m here.”
Temple plopped down next to him, forcing Louie to scramble for new high ground: the cushion tops behind them.
“Amazing. You’re so calm.”
“What does it change? It was Romeo and Juliet from two different classes instead of clans. Their families imposed their own priorities on their wayward kids. I feel for my mother but it’s too late to change anything. Except,” he added, “the present. So what kind of tangle have you been involved with while I was gone?”
She told him, including her reservations about the Molina/Nadir/ Larry/Mariah quadrangle.
“Wow. Carmen is ratcheting up the stakes on all fronts, isn’t she?”
“Carmen? You call her that? Since when?”
“Occasionally. When I really want her attention. Her name is the key to her background. That’s why she doesn’t use it professionally. Carmen Regina. Regina means ‘Queen of Heaven.’ All very Hispanic and very Catholic.”
“I’m not very Catholic.”
“That’s what I like about you.”
“Why?”
“I get to keep the guilt concession all to myself when I’m with you.”
She looked a little nervous. He discovered he loved being able to make her nervous.
“Guilt isn’t a Unitarian thing,” she said finally. “Fine. Leave it up to me.”
“Have you something guilty in mind?”
“Maybe. Let’s go out.”
“The Bellagio, you said.”
“The new you deserves it.”
“You won’t be ashamed to be seen with my blatantly blonde hair?”
“I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with you with chartreuse hair. I’ve still got a couple days left on my vacation from the radio station. They’re running `Mr. Midnight’s Classic Moments’ this week.” Matt shrugged an apology at the corniness of his employer. “Okay if I pick you up tomorrow at eight? I’m thinking of that purple taffeta dress you wore once.”
“You want me to wear it again?”
“It wasn’t too shabby.”
“You want me to dress a certain way?”
“Catholic guilt.”
She hesitated before answering. “That’s kinda … erotic.”
“The best kind of guilt.”
“Not the black with the buttons—?”
“Not this time.”
She swallowed. She was right. This conversation was getting incredibly erotic. “‘This time’?”
“I hope so.”
“Matt—?”
“Temple.”
“You are way too … confident.”
“You like dithering?”
“Maybe.”
“Tomorrow. Eight.”
Her eyes were wide, blue-gray. Looked incredible with the blonde hair. The Teen Queen people had remade her into somebody beyond her current persona. For the first time, Matt felt that Max Kinsella could be a name in a history book. For the first time, he felt like he was writing his own life, and maybe Temple’s life too.
“I think you’re saying yes,” he said.
“Yes.”
He left, feeling something in his core that was deep and tender and strong, stronger than anything anyone had ever taken away from him. Strong beyond weakening. Love, surely.
Sex. Maybe.
Chapter 60
Caught in the Crossfire
Temple wasn’t usually nervous before a dinner date. Dinner dates were the most formal form of coupling, easily written off as exploratory and way too public to offer anything more than mild flirtation.
She wasn’t stepping out on Max. Just socializing, right? Besides, Max was pretty hard to step out on since he’d hardly been around lately. He’d never noticed she’d been away from the Circle Ritz. Had left her high and dry in the hot tub, his hot tub. This had nothing to do with Max and their long monogamous relationship. Right. The relationship that was turning into a monologue instead of a dialogue, with Temple asking the leading questions and Max ducking them like she was an obnoxious insurance agent. This was not about Max. No. It was about Matt, who had been ducking her for good and scary reasons but was definitely over that now.
Maybe digging out her old purple taffeta prom dress and trying it on in the bedroom mirror was putting her on edge. At least the Teen Queen diet ensured she could easily pull up the back zipper.
Temple surveyed her past self in the full-length mirror, ignoring the bizarre hair color above the neck. This dress was so twelve years ago. Strapless, close-fitting ruched princess torso. Sheer chic then, today it felt like wearing curtain from an Austrian whorehouse. Belled skirt like an exotic blossom with her legs the stem. This dress had been selected after she’d been invited to the prom by a dorkish date. Temple, too soft-hearted to just say no, had chosen the full crackling skirt so she wouldn’t be afflicted during slow dances by knowledge of the casual date in homo erectus state. It was icky to think of oneself as a blowup doll for the socially challenged set. Poor guys, hormones will … well, out. That didn’t mean she had to be the scene of the crime.
Back to now and a definitely nondorky guy. Being a vintage-everything lover, Temple wasn’t bothered by the dress’s dated look. But something bothered her. Maybe it was her unadorned chest and neck. She couldn’t remember what she’d worn with the dress to her real prom back in Minnesota, which showed how unmemorable that had been. In fact, it had been the usual night of uneasy embarrassment, having been asked by someone she wouldn’t have asked to the prom if girls could do the selecting.
So … she needed a fresh necklace anyway. Her three-tier costume jewelry chest didn’t offer anything right. And then she remembered … Should she? It would be a nice gesture. Maybe it would be too nice a gesture. Take a look, she told herself. If it goes with the dress and the Gamier hair .. .
She pawed through her scarf drawer, a repository of all the gifts she’d never used because she couldn’t tie an attractive knot to save her soul. A little round box. Whatwas that? She opened it and found the old gold ring of a dragon biting its tail she had been mistakenly given at the women’s exhibition. Way too big to wear and way too clunky and not-her.
Her fingers found the shape of another box. She opened the velvet case and pulled out the black cat necklace of crushed black opal Matt had given to her months and months ago. She had given it to her scarf drawer in turn because she was an almost-married woman. In her own mind. Then.
Now … if he wanted her to wear this dress, he’d want her to wear his present. She fought the tiny clasp to a TKO and went to the mirror to adjust the lay of the delicate centerpiece on her collarbones.
Maybe a bit subdued for the dress but not bad. She shook her head. The curl was creeping back into her colored hair but she still looked so radically different to herself. Max wouldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d keep the color. It made what she’d always considered her lukewarm blue-gray eyes look startlingly strong. Why be a Lucille Ball redhead forever, even if hers was natural?