Chapter 7
Dirk
I eat too much at lunch. Jamison presses the full three courses plus wine on me, and then a coffee. Dee will be furious. My children are opposites, each pulling me in a separate direction when it comes to health and fitness.
Jamison invites me back to his office. For a moment, I think he’s going to usher me into the big room, the boardroom, near reception, but one of the partners rushes past, the tall one, Brent Leverstone – reminds me of a shark.
Last time I was here, Jamison introduced us, and the man was all charm, but it’s clear he’s too busy this time, or maybe he disapproves of long lunches.
Jamison frowns. He insists I borrow his car for another few days; says he’s heading off to a conference and will catch a cab to the airport.
He’s on edge.
“Everything okay, son?” I say.
“Yeah. Nothing for you to worry about.”
I go to question him further, but he’s checking his watch. My job is to get out of there and let him get on with whatever’s preoccupying him. I make a mental note to quiz him harder next time. He’s too young to have so many frown lines.
A faint trace of Lucy’s perfume still lingers in the car’s dark leather upholstery – alluring, tantalizing; like fruit punch with too much alcohol.
It’s as unforgettable as the woman herself.
Amusing. Exciting. Probably trouble. All I can think of is the shock in her eyes just after I slammed into her with the hot drink, the full softness of her; and the shape of her back as I loosened the zipper of the stained gown.
She was like some kind of mermaid in that slippery green dress, shapely as a figurehead on a pirate ship. Lucy’s danger. She’s a temptress.
In the rear vision mirror, I catch my reflection, eyebrows up. I still can’t believe Lucy’s audacity in “saving me the parking fine.” Outrageous. But helpful.
I must work out how to set the car alarm to repel other intruders. Takes a while to learn all the features of a new car, especially one like this.
At the lights, I pull out my phone and make a note to read over the full manual. It’s a mistake. My phone also carries the trace of Lucy’s perfume. I plunge it back into my pocket, and frown.
Just then, it rings. Lucy? My heart quickens as a female voice comes through the car’s speakers.
It’s Jill.
“You have no clue, Dirk,” she says. “That woman. Lucy. She will eat you alive. Men can be so childish. And I saw you in that car. What is that?”
“It’s Jamison’s,” I say.
“It’s bait, Dirk. You’ll find new fish in the sea, alright, but they won’t be the right kind of fish. Lucy’s a piranha.”
“Pretty sure piranhas are freshwater fish, Jill.”
“Don’t be pedantic. You know what I mean. Or maybe Lucy’s exactly what you and Jamison have in mind. You might think you want someone like Lucy, but she’s not who you need. Not after everything you’ve been through.”
I’m silent.
“Don’t get me wrong, Dirk. You’re a generous man. Too generous. I’ve benefited myself, of course I have, and I’m more than grateful.”
I grunt.
“Maybe I’m being too protective, Dirk,” she says.
“I can’t quite put my finger on what worries me about Lucy, but you get a feel for them after a few years – the ones who really can’t afford what I have to offer.
They try on my clothes to test the sizes, then go home and search for them online.
They cheat me of sales. I have to pay rent.
I invest in my stock. I’m not a free fitting service. ”
“Of course not, Jill.”
“To be fair, Lucy did buy a few things. I love my customers, but you’d think some women had nothing better to do than shop – half their luck.”
I consider reminding her of the loan, and telling her I’m cancelling it, but a bus roars past too close and there’s some kind of alarm blinking at me on the side mirror. I have to concentrate.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be so quick to judge Lucy,” Jill says.
“I liked being asked my opinion about those shirts,” I say.
“Blouses. But when she pulled out the leopard skin one, she actually growled at you. I don’t want you making a fool of yourself.”
Am I a fool? Would it matter? Don’t I deserve to live a bit? Over lunch, Jamison told me to lighten up. It’s not easy after a lifetime of caring for other people’s ills. Fool or bore? I’m floundering.
I clear my throat.
“Jill, about your loan ...”
“Gotta go, Dirk. Customers.”
The sun is out. It lights up the line of beaches heading north and south. Lucy mentioned a coastal restaurant. How long since I enjoyed a long lunch, a lunch with wine, a lunch with a beautiful woman? Decades.
Despite Jamison urging me over lunch to get out and enjoy life, Jill may be right to warn me. Lucy’s a distraction, and I don’t do surprises. These days I’m a creature of habit; of order; of logic and control and routine. It’s the only way. It’s everything. Especially now.
I drive and think of Jill and her debt to me, and her boys, my nephews – young Lachlan and Cameron – almost as tall as I am now, with their own aspirations and idiosyncrasies.
The sun starts to set, glowing behind the tall buildings of the city, and I turn the sleek red car back towards my apartment. The day may be over, “but the night is young” I hear myself say, and allow myself a smile.
Ping. It’s a message from her, no doubt – from Lucy.
It will be a suggestion for dinner. She won’t take “no” for an answer.
I ignore it. Mrs West will have placed my dinner in my apartment’s oven, on a timer.
My table place will be set, overlooking the city skyline; a small, healthy, covered salad waiting for me in the refrigerator; a suitable bottle of accompanying wine, uncorked; my favorite glass beside it on the table.
I like my new living arrangements. At least I’ve liked them until this evening.
My telephone pings again. I don’t like messages. Nobody messages me. It has to be Lucy. Already she is nagging me, though to be fair, the phone always pings twice.
Or it could be Jill again. Occasionally one of the boys breaks an arm or leg, and she’ll want a referral, a quick fix from one of my old medical colleagues.
Then the phone rings and a panel lights up on a screen.
Lucy’s face is all over the dashboard, alarmingly engaging, even more beautiful than I remember, and I have nowhere to hide.
I had no idea Jamison’s car did this. Technology has gone too far.
I stab at a button on the steering wheel to make her go away; to cancel the call; to give her a busy signal – anything to make her disappear, but unfortunately I’ve pressed the wrong tab – fog lights are on. What?
“Dirk?” Lucy says, and punctuates her greeting with another smile. Her father must have been an orthodontist. My heart jumps and quivers, and I stop just in time for a red light.
“Yes.” It comes out more gruffly than I intend, but I don’t need this woman in my life. Jill was right. The sooner Lucy realizes it the better. This car, this woman – high octane.
Lucy’s smile drops a notch. I must have scowled. I’m ashamed. I’m not cruel. I just don’t like to waste my time; nor hers.
“Look, Lucy,” I say. “Nothing personal. I’m busy.”
“Of course you are,” she says, eyes bright as an amusement park.
She shields them with her long lashes, dims them, contrite.
Then her words rush out like snowmelt down a mountain.
“So sorry to interrupt you. You’re busy.
I knew it. How extraordinary that we should agree so well already, Dirk.
I just wanted to thank you for paying for the dress this morning.
I won’t keep you, though you might be interested to know that the coffee washed out of it perfectly.
I have the gown on now, and it’s as good as brand new.
You see? Thank you. You were very generous, Dirk, but I really must pay you back. ”
“The stain. Oh. Good. Right. Fine. No need to pay me back.”
There’s silence.
Surely she’ll argue.
“It was my fault,” I say, surprising myself. Now I don’t want the conversation to end. There’s music in her voice, a lilt. She’s engaging; not that I’m looking for an engagement.
“No. Not at all,” she says. “I rang to let you know that I realize I was at least fifty per cent to blame. I was walking backwards – never a good idea. And I must pay ...”
“No,” I say abruptly, aiming for a firm tone of disinterest to make her go away.
I search again for some way of ending the call, but Lucy pushes her own phone away from herself and holds it up high, to show me the dress.
Even as the traffic lights turn green, the screen hijacks my attention.
The gown stands out from her waist as she gives it a twirl.
There’s a glimpse of creamy shoulders and that stunning V at the back, all but bare.
“I need to focus on driving,” I say, gruff. This Lucy is reeling me in like a fish, like Jill warned; showing herself off like bait. And I am the kingfish, ready to chase her all the way.
The headlights turn on automatically, still set on fog. No idea how to fix them.
“Well, you’re so busy, I won’t keep you.” And she’s gone, just like that; the dashboard blank – devastatingly empty – the vision of Lucy in the gown a phantom behind my eyes, set to haunt me.
My apartment is peaceful and still as I enter and toss the keys in the wide brass bowl on the hall table. This is usually my favorite part of the day. I inhale deeply. There’s a strong aroma of beef casserole with a faint underlay of cleaning fluids. Fresh lilies stand tall on the sideboard.
I loosen my tie and undo the top two buttons.
I slip off my shoes and place them on the rack in the hall cupboard to air, then survey my domain.
Everything is in its proper place. It’s calm.
Peaceful; exactly how I like it – so why am I so restless?
I pull out my phone, stare at the blank screen and frown.
The scent of Lucy is all but gone. Not so the memory of her smile, nor the vision of her in Jill’s green gown.
I pad across the soft new carpet and into the kitchen, where I serve myself the perfect portion of dinner and take it to my dining table.
The city lights twinkle. Usually I press the button and music fills my apartment, Greig or Rachmaninoff or Beethoven, but my head rings with Lucy’s words. If she doesn’t want an affair, what does she want? Worse, what doesn’t she want?
I lift my fork, then drop it. It clatters on the table. I pull out my phone again and study her message.
It’s an emoji, the one with hands together, supposedly in thanks, but surprisingly like a prayer. Is that all? And, if it is a prayer, what exactly is her wish?