9. Dinner with Malcom
Dinner with Malcom
Malcom’s place turned out to be a fairly large townhouse, one in a long row of townhouses with a wrought-iron fence and a gate that gave a protesting little squeak when she opened it.
As Jules ascended the concrete steps to the front porch, she took in the red brick exterior, numerous windows with glossy black shutters, and matching door.
Jules didn’t know if Malcom was waiting for her knock, but he opened the door almost immediately, and for a moment she was struck by the strange thought this was the first time she was seeing him someplace other than in a restaurant and not wearing a suit.
He also wasn’t wearing his glasses … and looked equally hot without them.
“Hi. Come on in,” he invited her, holding the door open for her.
She stepped into the entryway, which was empty except for a small table with a bowl on top for keys, and a standing coat rack in one corner. “Thank you.”
He looked around furtively, as if to make sure no one was around, before whispering, “Happy birthday.” Then, in a regular voice, he asked, “Was that low-key enough for you?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Good, because I just couldn’t not say it.”
He smiled as he set her purse on the table, then helped her take off her coat and hang it up. When that was done, he admired her in her dark, bootcut jeans and cinnamon colored, wrap-around blouse, that managed to look elegant and sexy at the same time.
“You look great,” he told her, with a quick clearing of his throat as he forced his eyes away from the subtle hint of cleavage. “Damn. ”
“So do you.” Tonight he was dressed in dark jeans, paired with a gray, button-down shirt, and as she looked him over, noticed a piece of clear plastic sticking out from one of his cuffs. “Is this a new shirt?”
“What?”
“Is this a new shirt?” she repeated, reaching out to grasp the plastic piece where a price tag would have been attached.
“Um … well, yes.”
“Are you one of those people who try and rip the tags off, instead of cutting them off?”
“No, but I was in a bit of a hurry tonight and I couldn’t find any scissors.”
“I can’t decide if that’s flattering, or not,” she teased. When he seemed a little embarrassed by the direction the conversation had taken, she looked him over more closely, thinking his jeans looked pretty new, too. “Did you buy all new clothes for our date?”
“Yes and no. I did need to get some casual things to wear, but I didn’t get them specifically for our date.”
Not sure if she believed him, she asked, “You don’t have a lot of casual clothes?”
Now he seemed downright uncomfortable. “Not really. And the casual clothes I do have are mostly like sweats and T-shirts, and I wasn’t going to wear sweat pants tonight.”
“So, your wardrobe consists mostly of suits and sweats? And not much in between?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why is that?”
“I just … I don’t know why, to be honest.”
“Well, if we’re still going out in a few months, we’ll go clothes shopping together and fill in your wardrobe gaps,” she told him, giving his forearm an exaggerated, comforting pat. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds like good motivation to keep you around. At least for a few months, anyway.”
She nodded in agreement. “I think it would be worth it, because I’m a really good shopper.
Not to brag or anything—okay, maybe just a little bit—but I helped my friend, Paige, update her wardrobe from early Soviet Union gulag to chic, 21st century, badass woman in less than three hours …
and that included a lot of casual clothes. ”
Malcom adopted a thoughtful expression. “She did look fantastic the night we met at the restaurant. I remember thinking she had great taste in clothes.”
“What? You can remember what she was wearing?”
“Of course I can’t. It was fifteen—no wait, make that sixteen— months ago.”
At the deadpan dig, Jules released a soft chuckle. “I have to say, your mom was right when she said you had a dry sense of humor.”
At the reminder of his mother’s character reference, Malcom inwardly groaned.
“I do have to wonder, though, if she was wrong about your impeccable manners … which I must say aren’t very impeccable tonight,” she continued. Then, at his surprised frown, she added, “You haven’t offered me a tour of your place yet. Or am I supposed to look around on my own?”
While he showed her around the first floor, which was obviously made up of the main living spaces and a large half-bath, she was impressed by the high ceilings, beautiful crown molding, stunning parquet floors, and expansive windows.
However, to her confusion, the first three rooms were empty, and were only identifiable because Malcom told her what they were.
One was a formal living room (which Jules had always thought had very little function), one was a formal dining room (only marginally more functional), and the last one was potentially a small den (which was the most potentially functional of them all).
There were no pictures or artwork anywhere, nor any knick-knacks scattered around, and all the walls were a neutral, off-white color.
The only room that actually had anything in it was the fourth room.
It was obviously the main living room, with a couch, matching loveseat, a coffee table, two end tables, and a floor lamp.
There was also a large, flat-screen TV hanging on the wall with a shelving unit underneath, boasting a turntable and an impressive vinyl collection.
To her surprise and delight, a large 24x36 framed and matted movie poster of The Godfather was hanging on one of the walls.
It was a vintage, illustrated version with Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, and even the guy who played Solazzo (Jules couldn’t remember his real name) on it.
In the background there was part of a cityscape, and in the foreground was a little depiction of Sonny lying dead on the causeway, his car riddled with bullets, adding a nice touch.
“It’s a beautiful home,” she told him politely, because it was, even if it needed a generous amount of life and personality injected into it. “How long have you lived here?”
“A little over five years. I bought it after my divorce.”
Jules blinked at him, having assumed he’d moved in very recently, not five years ago. It made her unhappy to picture him in this beautiful home, with plain white walls and only one room furnished for so long, but she kept that to herself .
Malcom must have seen her confusion, because he explained, “My ex-wife got our original house and all our furnishings in the divorce settlement.”
The picture was coming into focus a little bit, and the urge to ask a bunch of questions about his ex-wife was very real, but Jules held her tongue; it would probably be better to wait until at least the third date to really dig into that subject. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t really like the house or anything in it.
She liked everything to be really modern, so the house looked like something out of Architectural Digest , resembling an office building more than anything, and all the furniture she bought had sharp edges and was really uncomfortable.
” He gave a quick shake of his head. “All the artwork was abstract bullshit, resembling paint spills, so I was glad to say goodbye to it all. As you can see—” he motioned around the living room, “—since moving in, I’ve only done the bare minimum in furnishing the place. ”
“I noticed.”
He shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t been motivated to do more.”
“Well, hopefully your kitchen is adequately equipped, because you did promise me dinner.”
As he put his hand to the small of her back and started to turn her toward the kitchen, she gave the movie poster one more glance, and something in her expression prompted him to ask, “Are you laughing at my one piece of ‘artwork’?”
Thankfully, he sounded more amused than offended, and she teasingly bumped his shoulder with her own. “No, I’m admiring it, because I have a framed poster of The Godfather hanging in my place, too—the one with Marlon Brando wearing a tux in his office, on Connie’s wedding day.”
He bumped her back. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”
“I would never,” she insisted. “I actually have several framed movie posters.”
“Oh? Which ones?”
“ The Shining , the original Amityville Horror , Cat on a Hot Tin Roof … because Paul Newman. I also have Breakfast at Tiffany’s and … Pulp Fiction .”
“That’s pretty diverse.”
“I know. Now let’s see your kitchen, because I’m hungry.”
With a bit of a flourish, he led her into the kitchen, which was to the left of the living room.
It was probably the best room in the house, in terms of it being a colorful, inviting, and much-used space.
It was equipped with what looked like professional grade appliances (the gas stove was a marvel, with six burners and a separate griddle), and an island that dominated the space with a beautiful, snowy-white granite countertop inlaid with shiny flecks of silver, gray, sky blue, and black.
The cabinets were a distressed, slate gray, and the farmhouse sink was a spectacular, hammered copper piece of art.
There was even a beautiful, rustic kitchen table and chairs.
“Oh, my God. This is … amazing,” Jules said.
“Thanks. It’s actually the reason I bought this house. I spend a lot of time in here.”
“I hardly spend any time in my kitchen.”
“You don’t cook a lot?”
“Not a lot, no.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Is that a deal breaker?”
“Are you one of those people who eats cereal for dinner?”
Jules chuckled. “No, but I do eat a lot of waffles. Nothing beats a waffle sandwich, you know.”
“Are we talking Eggos or real waffles?”
“Real waffles, of course. I do have some standards.”
He tilted his head. “Have you ever had chicken and waffles?”
“No. I’ve always thought that sounded a little weird.”
“It’s not weird, it’s delicious.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to make it for me sometime.”
“I will.”