It was early May when I finally saw Jeff again. It was not in the lobby or the garage but at the grocery store. I was picking out some broccoli when I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the vegetable aisle.
“Jill!”
I looked up. He was smiling at me, that winning smile, and laughing.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
“No, no, you didn’t,” I stammered. I wanted so badly to ask him where he’d been, but that suddenly seemed too desperate.
“How you doin’?” he asked jovially.
“Fine,” I said back.
“Been a while.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded in agreement.
“Whatchya been up to? Writing?”
“Yes, quite a bit. And my mother was here for a visit,” I said, feeling defensive.
“Oh. Nice.”
I drew in a deep breath and began to move away toward the checkout stands. I wanted to get out of there. He watched me begin to turn away and then called, “Wanna get a drink? I know a place.”
I turned back toward him and he looked at me with such… openness that it caught me off guard. I hesitated just long enough to not seem needy or hard up, even though I was most decidedly both. “Sure,” I said with all the breeziness I could muster.
“Great. How ’bout I meet you in the lobby in half an hour? That enough time for you to finish up here?”
“Yes, should be, uh-huh.”
He smiled, turned, and walked away toward the dairy aisle.
Oh my God! I thought. I rushed home as quickly as possible, abandoning my groceries, my mind reeling. What to wear? I knew I should dress casually but still with some style. I opted for jeans and sandals with a black wraparound sweater I’d gotten with my mom. I threw that on and cleaned myself up a little, brushing my hair out and touching up my lipstick. I sprayed a tiny hint of perfume on my wrist and then appraised myself in my full-length mirror. Not bad, I thought.
I grabbed my keys and handbag and rushed out to call an elevator, but both were stopped on the first floor, so I elected to take the stairs (rare for me). I got to the third-floor landing, and then I heard a voice. I stopped to listen, ever the eavesdropper.
“I can’t go back in there!” a woman said in a frantic whisper. “I can’t do it! What’s taking so long?” she asked mournfully. There was a pause and then … “Positive. All of it.” I thought she sounded a lot like the Swedish model from Virginia.
I stood there on the landing, transfixed, afraid to breathe. I heard the stairwell door open and close. I listened to make certain she was gone, and when I was certain she was, I quietly walked the rest of the way down and into the lobby, where Jeff was standing by the front door talking to Jack, our doorman.
He turned as I came out. “Hey, hey! There you are!”
“Here I am,” I said with a nervous smile.
Jack held open the door for us as we passed through. He smiled broadly and winked at me.
“What’s up with him?” I asked once out of earshot.
“Beats me.” He shrugged. “No jacket?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you hungry? ’Cuz I’m starving, and there’s a great place right … well, you must know Vinnie’s, right? You’ve lived here longer than I have.”
“I’ve only been there a couple times, but I like it. Sure.” Vinnie’s was a cute little Italian place around the corner from our building.
We walked to the restaurant, and Jeff opened the door for me. There was a large Italian-looking maître d’ who greeted Jeff like a regular, shaking his hand and welcoming him. Then he turned to me. “Who’s this?” the man asked in a heavy Italian accent. He looked at me kindly.
“Anthony, I’d like you to meet my neighbor, Jill.”
He put out his hand, and I held mine out demurely. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand.
“Nice to meet you, as well.” I smiled at him.
We were seated at a darling little table overlooking much of the restaurant. There were a few other people scattered around, but it was pretty quiet.
“You look beautiful,” Jeff said, looking at me.
I half smiled. “Thank you.” It had been a long time since anyone had told me that. A long time.
“So, hey, the weirdest thing just happened in the stairwell when I was coming down to meet you,” I said excitedly. “That lady, the ex-model? The one from Virginia? I heard her talking to someone on her phone. At least, I think it was her. She was saying something about not being able to go back in somewhere. That she didn’t understand why it was taking so long. It was very strange.”
“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I’d almost forgotten how attractive he was—with his chiseled jaw, thick hair cropped short on the sides, and eyes like limpid blue pools. Oh my God—I sound like one of my novels, I thought.
“Yes,” I continued. “I have no idea who she was talking to. It was weird.”
He was nodding his head slowly, seeming to be thinking about what I’d said. “Interesting,” he commented, with furrowed brow.
“Yeah, I know. What do you think that was about?”
“Well, maybe she saw a mouse,” he said with a half smile.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Do you care for some Cabernet or Chianti?” he asked while looking at the wine list.
“Whatever,” I said cheerfully.
The waiter came and Jeff ordered a Cabernet I’d never heard of. The waiter was back with it almost before he’d left.
“That was quick,” I said.
“I come here often,” Jeff informed me with a tight smile. “So, I found out their real names,” he said suddenly. “Turns out it’s not The Virginia couple. No, it’s Charles and Erika Manning.”
“And to think I almost called him Mr. Couple. Thanks for the heads-up.” I said, picking up on his joke.
“I googled them, but there was nothing,” he said, frowning.
He ordered for both of us because I was unfamiliar with the menu. I was too nervous to eat anyway. We talked about the weather, the last election, travel, the building, and marriage: He didn’t mind it, he’d voted for the other guy, he loved Italy, the old guy on the second floor certainly was annoying, and he was all for it, provided one met the right person.
“So, tell me while we’re on the subject, how is it that a pretty girl like you is free for dinner with a bum like me?”
“Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend or something?”
“Well, yes, for starters.”
“No, I haven’t,” I replied, looking at my hands.
“Have you ever been married?”
“Nope,” I said flatly. “You?”
“No. I was close once, but it didn’t work out. Thank goodness,” he said wryly.
“Why’s that?” I asked, truly curious.
“Well, she wasn’t the person I thought she was. You know? She acted like she loved sports, but actually she didn’t. She pretended to be outdoorsy but really wasn’t. She pretended money didn’t matter to