“That’s profiling,” Daniel said.
They returned to their food.
She thought it curious that Daniel wore a suit on the weekend — gray like yesterday, though a different cut — and a dress shirt of blush pink. No tie. Had he planned to attend a meeting later? Or was he simply more comfortable not wearing casual clothes? Gabriela was in tan stretch pants, a burgundy sweater, pearls too. Ankle boots. He’d looked at her figure once — when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The sweater was tight.
The table was small and she adjusted the distinctive turquoise Tiffany bag on the corner. “Thanks again for this.”
“The least I could do.”
Daniel asked where exactly she lived, relative to the deli, which was on Broadway, near 75th.
Gabriela grimaced. “About four blocks away. I come here way too often. The hips I have, I have Irving’s to thank for.” Her eyes swept around the counter, piled high with every imaginable taste. “Kosher, I’ve learned, does not mean low calories.” She paused, frowning. “I’m waiting.”
Daniel tapped his forehead with a palm. “What hips?”
“Too little, too late.”
“But obviously you work out.”
“I’ll give you a few points for that,” she said.
Daniel looked philosophical. “You notice when men say to women, ‘Oh, you work out,’ it’s a come-on line. When women ask it, they want to know if he’s going to cuddle in bed on Sunday mornings or get up at dawn for a date with his Adidas.”
“I’d have to think about it. Was that a come-on line?”
Daniel asked, “You want some jam?”
Breakfast was coffee, pumpernickel bagels and smoked salmon. No onions. “Onions are a fourth- or fifth-date thing,” Gabriela announced.
“Is this a date?”
She was thinking about last night. Her response was, “I don’t know that we need to overthink it.”
“Fair enough. Still, you manage an investment house and I run a venture capital firm. We’re professional overthinkers. No?”
“True,” she said.
“But it’s not overthinking it to say we survived a completely excruciating night last night.”
“No, that’s accurate.”
He frowned. “You’re picking at your food. Can I have that piece of salmon? The lonesome one on the side?”
“Yours.”
He speared and ate it. “What’re your plans for today?”
“I pick Sarah up at one from dance class. And we spend the rest of the weekend together.”
“You two have a great time. I can tell.”
“Oh, we do.” Her eyes grew wide. “We go to American Girl and FAO, naturally. But MOMA and the Met too. Sarah asks for the art museums. She’s so smart. I have to keep reminding myself she’s only six.”
“Smart. So she’s got your genes.”
“She got my temperament genes. Ah, I think I just sniped at my ex again. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that.”
They nodded to the young male server for coffee refills. And thanked him. Daniel looked her over with a coy smile. “Is this where you tell me about the complication?”
Gabriela laughed hard. “You make your clients a ton of money, I’ll bet. With that kind of insight.”
“No engagement ring,” Daniel said, glancing toward her finger. “You’re beautiful — which by the way is less of a come-on line than ‘Wow, you totally work out.’ I just have a feeling there has to be a complication.”
“Okay. There’s this tiny complication.”
“How tiny?”
“Stop it!” She laughed again. “His name’s Frank. Frank Walsh.”
“What an awful name,” Daniel said, wrinkling his perfect nose.
“Are you listening?”
“Tell me about Frank,” he said, thumping the last word with his lips. “I’m dying to know about complicating Frank.”
“You’re mean! We date some.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
After a pause: “Fact is, he’s a little more interested in me than I am in him.”
“Never heard of that happening before,” Daniel said sardonically. “I actually got proposed to by a woman on a first date. She popped the question as soon as she heard I had a job. I’m not making that up. But I should add that there was some tequila involved.”
“Did you say yes?”
“To what?” Daniel asked with feigned innocence.
She continued, “Frank’s quirky — he’s a computer nerd. And reclusive. But he knows movies — which I love — and he’s funny and considerate. You don’t find that a lot nowadays.”
“Here’s my guideline,” Daniel said. “The sweet factor.”
“Sweet?”
“If you describe your present love interest as infuriating and exasperating, then you’re in love. If you say he’s sweet, it’s doomed and you need to ditch him pronto — for somebody who infuriates you.”
“I’m withholding all future adjectives about Frank for the time being.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t have to be at the dance school for a while. Want to walk me back to my apartment?”
“Good idea,” he said, “it’ll help work some of that excess weight off your hips.”
“Nice try. But you’re not infuriating me. Yet.” She took his fork, which contained his last piece of salmon, dunked the pink cube in sour cream and ate it fast.
Chapter 9
Sarah
10:00 A.M., SATURDAY
30 MINUTES EARLIER
The two made their way past the Sheep Meadow in Central Park and under the boughs of trees lit by unfiltered sun. The leaves still clung to branches and the configuration of tissue and vein was as busy and colorful as a Jackson Pollock painting, changing shade and glow constantly; the wind was persistent.
Her purse over her shoulder, Gabriela carried in one hand the Tiffany bag that Daniel had brought her, and in the other a paper sack containing a walnut cream cheese bagel for her daughter.
“Let’s go that way,” she said, nodding.
Soon they were at the reservoir, walking wide of the path to stay clear of the many manic runners. A serious race walker, with his camel gait, overtook many of those jogging.
The conversation had turned substantive, typically morning-after-meeting, and Daniel asked about her history with Prescott Investments. She added with some passion, “I love the work. I mean, really love it. I was one of those people who got good grades, graduated with honors, all that. But I didn’t want to do anything practical. I was Ms. Creative. That’s what was important to me: writing, drawing, design, photography mostly. A headhunter sent me to Charles Prescott. He needed a freelancer to take some photos for a brochure.”
Gabriela smiled. “He was asking me about using Photoshop and some other software and right in the middle of the interview he stopped me. He said, ‘Forget it.’ I thought I was going to cry; I really needed the job. But he laughed and said, ‘I’ve seen your portfolio. The photos’re great. You’re an artist. But I can tell by talking to you your real talents are analysis and organization. Business.’
“Of course, I thought he was just telling me to get lost, but then he offered me the job on the spot: office manager. Full-time, benefits, everything. At first I was insulted; I mean, I knew I was going to be a famous artist. But then I admitted maybe I didn’t want that.”
Gabriela regarded Daniel with a smile. “So have you learned not to ask me any questions? You get a whole Google-search of information. You going to flee?”
“Not yet. So far, this isn’t the disaster last night turned out to be.” Then Daniel angled his head in that charming way of his and added with just the right amount of serious, “But you didn’t give up your photography.”