6. Donna
SIX
Donna
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DATE
I spritz a little more perfume behind my ears and toss the bottle back into my handbag. After doing a twelve-hour shift at Mrs. Amato’s house, I changed into a simple black dress and high-heeled boots in her powder room. I didn’t want to look too good tonight, since it’s not really a date, but then Mrs. Amato asked me whose funeral I was going to at this hour, and I’m thinking I may have veered a little too far in the not-sexy direction. So at least I’ll smell hot.
Billy wanted to pick me up at work or at least drive me to the restaurant from the apartment, but I insisted on meeting him there. Lines are already being blurred, what with him helping to fix up my house and me helping to fix him up in the dating department, and then there was the dream I had about us back at the house…of us living there to gether and having kids… I think it’s important for us to remember that we’re just two people who live next door to each other who screw each other while pretending to be other people.
I’ve never been to Monarch before, but I’ve heard of it. Rooftop northern Italian fine dining on top of a fancy hotel in Back Bay. I heard they book reservations months in advance, but Billy said he knows a guy and managed to get us a table within forty-eight hours. Normally I don’t waste money on valet parking— normally I take the T—but Billy insisted he’d cover the parking fee, and well, it’s raining. When I pull up to the hotel, I see a gorgeous man in a beautiful suit shooting the shit with a few uniformed valets.
To my surprise, when said gorgeous, suited man turns and sees me in my Honda, I realize it’s Billy. Based on how he’s usually dressed around the apartment, it wouldn’t have surprised me if I found out he worked as a valet here. The way he looks tonight, I would believe it if he told me he owned the place. He straightens his tie and combs his fingers through his wavy brown hair. Looks like he got a haircut. Looks good.
Goddamn it, he looks really good.
People are going to think I’m his grieving cousin.
He saunters around the front of my car and opens the door for me. “Greetings,” he says, holding out his hand. “Lovely to see you, Donna.”
I’m inwardly giggling, but outwardly I just nod at him as I take his hand, trying not to think about all the incredible things that hand has done to my body in the past year or so, and say, “Sup?”
As he pulls me up and out of the driver seat, he leans in to whisper into my ear, “You are Donna tonight, right?”
Goddamn it, he smells really good too. Like whiskey and pumpkin spice and a mysterious, fancy cabin in the woods. “Yeah,” I tell him, “I am. And you’re Billy Boston.”
A megawatt smile lights up his handsome face. “Fuck yeah, I am.” He waves one of the valet parkers over. “Joey! You take extra special care of this Honda, you hear me?” He presses a twenty-dollar bill into Joey’s palm.
“You got it, Billy.”
Billy winks at me and places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me through the entrance to the lobby. “You look beautiful, Donna,” he says into my ear again. “And you smell amazing.”
His breath is warm and minty, and if my stomach dips and my knees wobble the tiniest bit, I’m sure it’s because I’m hungry and I’m not used to wearing high heels anymore. “Thank you. My patient said I look like I’m going to a funeral.”
“You look like someone any guy would wanna bury his stick in is what I say,” he mutters.
And perhaps I shouldn’t find that flattering as we stroll across this marble lobby floor, but I do. “Why, thank you. You look very handsome.”
He presses the elevator call button and smooths down the front of his suit jacket. “Thanks. How’m I doin’ so far?”
Oh. So the whole compliment thing was all part of Date School. Good for him.
“So far you get an A, young man.”
He rubs his chin with his thumb. “What’s a guy gotta do to get an A-plus, huh, Miss Fischer?”
Just keep doing what you’re doing is what I’m thinking. But I roll my eyes and smirk. “Extra credit is considered on a case-by-case basis.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Billy waits until the group of people disembark and walk past us before saying, “Well, in this case, I hope you’ll consider me a very eager student.” He holds his arm out, ushering me into the elevator car. “Who’s willin’ to break the rules to please his favorite teacher, if you know what I mean.”
Do I ever.
When I step inside the elevator, I press my back up against the side wall and clutch my handbag to my chest, like I’m afraid he’s going to steal it along with the rapidly beating heart that’s hiding behind it. Billy jabs at the button for the top floor and languidly leans against the opposite wall, resting his hands on the brass railing behind him, his groin ever so casually thrust in my direction. A muffled, instrumental version of “Werewolves of London” is being piped through the speakers overhead. I watch as his gaze travels up the front of me, from the tips of my leather boots, lingering at my bare knees and lower thighs, up to my hips, and my scarlet-stained mouth.
Aside from his eyes, he is perfectly still. And that’s when I realize Billy Boston is always moving. Alive in a way that few people are, especially in my world. Always talking. But right now he’s holding himself back, and it’s even more electrifying. Right now he’s quiet and he’s saying more than I can bear to understand.
If the air felt thick with something like sorrow at the farmhouse, the air in this elevator is thick with all the sexual tension between us. I don’t even know how there could be so much tension between two people who’ve had sex as many times as we have. But it’s there.
Before Billy’s slow, hard stare meets mine, I drop my handbag to the floor and we both take two steps forward, meeting in a frantic kiss. My hands are cradling his face and his hands are all over my ass, and I want him to bury his stick six feet deep inside of me right here, right now.
“You are so fucking hot,” he exhales.
“You look so fucking good in a suit.”
“I look so fucking good in you too. ”
I am so confused by whether or not we’re doing a scene right now because that’s the kind of line he uses when we’re role-playing. I can only respond by laughing. He kisses my neck.
“You think that’s funny, Miss Fischer? I get an A-plus for that line?”
Ahh. He’s playing hot for teacher. Not real. Got it. “Oh, you’ll get what’s coming to you in detention.”
The elevator dings, and we bump foreheads as we bend down to pick up my handbag at the same time.
Now we’re both laughing and swearing and wiping our mouths as we step off the elevator. “Do I have lipstick all over my face?” I ask him.
“Naw, you still look perfect,” he says. “How about me?”
“Still handsome.”
I silently praise my drugstore-brand lipstick for its staying power as he takes my hand.
“Is it okay for me to hold a girl’s hand like this on a first date?”
“Yeah, I think it’s nice.”
“Cool.”
I bump into him when I head toward the entrance to the restaurant and the crowd of well-dressed people waiting to be seated, just as he veers to the left. “We’re goin’ this way.”
“Oh. I thought we were going to Monarch.”
“We are. We’re goin’ in the special way.”
And by that he means the service entrance.
He leads me down the hall and around the corner. There’s a door with a keypad lock. He punches in a code and the door pops open. “Right this way, milady.” We’re in a back hall that leads to a very busy kitchen.
“Hey, Lorenzo!” Billy calls out to a middle-aged man in a jacket and tie, above the din of back-room chaos. “How are ya?”
“Hey, Billy! Where ya been?”
“I can’t tell ya, but your ma says hi. Hey-oh! Here you go, my man.” He presses a twenty-dollar bill into this guy’s hand too, like it’s no big deal.
Swagger.
Billy Boston has swagger as he struts through this busy commercial kitchen like he’s John Travolta walking into a nightclub.
As we pass by the dishwasher stations, Billy punches a young man in the arm. “Gino! Lookin’ fit, my man.”
“Hey, Billy. I been takin’ that protein powder I got from youse—that stuff is amazing.”
“’Course it is. Lemme know when you need more.”
Oh God, is Billy one of those nutritional-supplement affiliates? I would not be surprised if this is all some elaborate scheme to get me to buy a year’s supply of creatine from him.
A very tall, dark-haired young man gives me the once-over when we walk past the salad prep station. Billy squeezes my hand tight and gets right up in his face without missing a step. “Fuck you, Enzo. Don’t you even look at my girl.”
Enzo just looks away, no talking back. I have to say I’m a little turned on by IRL badass Billy.
Finally we’re out of the kitchen and into the sophisticated, dimly lit, expansive restaurant, zigzagging through servers and tables.
Ahead of us, a distinguished elderly man in a dark suit is instructing a group of servers while pointing to different tables. He does a double take when he sees Billy approaching and immediately walks over to greet him, arms extended.
“Saverio!” Billy calls out to the man, who I’m assuming is the ma?tre d’. “What’s up, big guy?”
“Signore O’Sullivan! So nice to see you. Why we no see you in so long, huh? Did you call ahead? Nobody tell me.”
“Naw, I thought I’d take my chances on a table for two.” Billy scans the room and spots one free table in the back corner as he surreptitiously presses a hundo into Saverio’s palm.
“But of course, yes, I have a very special table for you and the lady, of course!”
“This beautiful lady is Donna,” Billy tells him with a flourish.
“ Buonasera, bella signora, ” Saverio says to me, holding out his hand.
“ Buonasera, signore. ” I hold out my hand, and he kisses it.
“ Buonasera. Right this way, right this way.” He snaps his fingers at a couple of servers, signaling to them as he leads us toward the table in the back. Before we reach it, candles on the table have been lit, water has been poured, and a young gentleman is waiting to hand us menus. Saverio pulls the table out himself to allow us a little more room to slide into the curved plush velvet booth, just as two other servers remove the chairs on the other side.
It’s like they’re moving heaven and earth for this guy.
Like, seriously, who is he?
“Thank you so much, Saverio,” Billy says. “I owe ya.”
“It is my pleasure, Signore O’Sullivan. If there is anything you need, you ask me.”
And suddenly it’s just me and Signore O’Sullivan at this corner table, under an ornate hanging lamp, flanked by potted tropical plants. Across from us is a window with sweeping views of Back Bay. I don’t know that I’ll ever catch my breath enough to actually eat, but Billy seems completely unfazed.
“Nice place, right?” he says, pushing his menu aside. “I always order the special.”
“Come here a lot, do you? ”
“I came here a lot a couple years ago, but I try to spread my money around, y’know?”
I cover my face, grinning and shaking my head. “Ahhh, you certainly do.”
“What? I like good food. This place serves good food.”
“No, I mean. The whole…” I wave my hand around and imitate him slapping money into guys’ hands. “Hey, Matteo, whaddya say!”
He honestly does not seem to know what I’m talking about. “There’s no one by the name of Matteo who works here.”
“No, I mean—it’s just a practice date. You can take it down, like, seven notches. You don’t have to put on a big show.”
“What big show?” He seems genuinely confused. “You mean in the elevator?”
“Nope. Never mind.” I guess this is just how Billy rolls. Either that or he’s a 1950s mob boss.
So, in the spirit of being a good date and showing him how it’s done—I roll with that. I let him order for me—something I’ve never let a guy do before, not even Trevor—and to my great relief, everything he orders for us is just great. From the appetizers and tonight’s special to the Chianti and dessert. If this is all an act, then he is an amazing actor.
If this is who he is when he’s not pretending to be someone else for my benefit, well…I think I like who he is.
The way he’s leaning back with his arms spread out in the booth, manspreading under the table. The way his knee keeps touching mine every so often and he just smiles and winks in acknowledgment. I don’t know. Any other guy and I’d probably find it obnoxious, but on Billy it’s just…right.
I polish off my second glass of Chianti, since he assured me he’d have someone drive us home in my car. I’m feeling all warm and nice and beautiful and attended to. And then I remember I’m supposed to be teaching this guy how to behave on a first date. That’s why we’re here. In all honesty, in my opinion, most guys could learn a thing or two from him. But as I watch him laugh and chat with the diners who’ve stopped by our table to pay their respects to him or something, I do have some advice for him.
When the couple finally leaves and Billy asks me if I’d like more wine, I shake my head, lean into him a little, and say, “You know, Sir William…”
“Oh, I’m being knighted now?”
“Yes, Sir William. As your tutor, I do have an observation to make, if I may.”
“By all means. Proceed.”
“This is all great and kind of thrilling and very impressive.” I swirl my hands around. “But one thing a lady would probably appreciate is to hear you get real, you know? Open up a little.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, if I were anyone other than me and this were an actual date, I’d really like to know what makes you tick. What’s important to you?”
Billy’s body language changes. He gets all serious, like he’s really thinking about what to say. And just that, even, is so perfect. “Like, in general?” he asks.
“Just say whatever’s on your mind. Tell me something important, big or small. Tell me something true about you.”
He picks up his tumbler of whiskey on the rocks and clears his throat. “Well, Donna, I happen to have a lot of thoughts and feelings about life in general. I believe that I am doing things right and most people are missing out on the potential of what their lives could be. I believe life is for livin’. Y’know? I mean, you get it, right?”
“I do—I really do.” He could have said he believes farts are messages from aliens and I would have agreed with him because I want to hear where this is going. I slow-blink at him, like a cat. A horny, tipsy cat who wants to curl up in his lap. But I don’t. I place my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my fist and listen to him.
“Yeah, like, you’re an old-people nurse, right?”
I chuckle at that. “I am a registered nurse specializing in geriatric care, yes.”
“Yeah, so you probably know a lot of old people, and I bet none of them have ever said to you as they lay there on their deathbeds, ‘Dammit, Donna, I just wish I’d lived a little less and tried fewer things and had less fun.’ Right?”
“Absolutely correct.”
“Now, I’m not talkin’ about hittin’ the clubs or any of that bullshit—sorry, is it okay for me to swear on a date?”
“I mean, it depends on who your fucking date is and whether or not you’re swearing at her or around her, but in this case I will allow that shit.”
He laughs. “Fuckin’ A, Fischer. Fuckin’ A.” The skin around his eyes crinkles and his brown eyes sparkle when he smiles and laughs, all easygoing, and it’s just so…appealing.
We just smile at each other for a few seconds, and I find myself leaning toward him even more and biting my lower lip as I stare at his mouth. That filthy, talented mouth, and then I remember that this isn’t a real date—I’m here to teach him how to date someone else.
Clearing my throat, I straighten up and say, “In general, though, in the spirit of your edification, Sir William, I’d say people are expected to be on their best behavior for the first date. First through third date, even. And most would say that you should wait until you get a sense of whether or not your date would be offended by something before saying it. But honestly, I would rather know who a person is up front instead of finding out years into the relationship after I’ve moved to another state to go to college with him…” I smack my lips, realizing that I was about to reveal way more about my own personal history than necessary.
Billy’s brow furrows. “Go on…”
“Nope! You go on. Tell me more of what you’d tell a date about your thoughts and feelings about life.”
He studies me for an odd moment and then launches back into it. “Yeah, y’know. I just think life should be an adventure. I think people forget that. It’s like, we know it instinctively as kids, right? We’re born with that hunger. It’s just like an innate intense curiosity about what this world we were born into is like.
“Learning is an adventure. That’s the kind of fun I’m talking about. Learning what life can be. Learning who you are. Learning what your friends are made of. But most people, as soon as they start taking on responsibilities, it’s like they think that means they aren’t allowed to have fun anymore. A lot of people assume that just ’cause I like to have fun that means I’m irresponsible.” He shrugs. “If drivin’ a Volvo and payin’ all your bills on time and makin’ sure all your loved ones are taken care of doesn’t count as bein’ responsible, well, then I guess I’m not.
“But nobody ever got hurt on a night out with me. Yeah sure, a lot of crazy shit happens when you’re open to it. Yeah, there’s been hours, which over the years have added up to days, which are unaccounted for. Me and my cousins, we’ll never know how we ended up in Michigan that time. But as far as anyone knows, no one has ever gotten hurt on my watch and nothing illegal ever went down.”
I don’t know if my neighbor’s a salesman or not, but I am buying everything this guy’s selling and I would go so far as to say that I would beat the crap out of anyone if I heard them tell him he’s irresponsible. This is a man who knows what’s up. “So that’s what you want in life?” I find myself asking. “To have adventures? Do you want to have adventures with anyone in particular? Or raise any little adventurers? And if so, how many?” I reach for his whiskey glass, take a tiny sip of it, and then give it back to him. “Go on.”
He laughs at me, ever so gently. Trevor used to get so judgmental whenever I drank, especially if we were at a nice restaurant or with his family. I guess I forgot that dates can be fun. With guys like Billy at least.
“Well,” he says, “I actually do love kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I babysit for my brother and my cousins all the time. Whenever they let me, I mean. Yeah, I’d love to have kids of my own someday. I guess I always kind of assumed I’d have a bunch of kids at some point, in the same way I assumed I and everyone I knew would keep havin’ fun forever…” He stares down into his glass, twirls the ice cubes around, and takes a sip. “I guess I thought that kind of stuff just happens. But then I saw my brother and my best friends—my cousins, those assholes—I saw how they had to work for it. Y’know? They kind of changed all of a sudden and they made a decision and all of a sudden they knew…”
“Knew what?”
“Who they wanted. What they wanted with her. And that they wanted it now . Not some hypothetical time in the future. And they wanted it forever. There was always a struggle, and then it got clear for them. And then it was like that’s how it’s always been. It’s like they forgot the long and winding road, you know?”
I nod. I swear to God, if he starts singing a Beatles song, I’m dead.
“I mean, if I’m being honest, I do feel left out sometimes now. They give me shit—that’s what we do, we give each other shit. But when I’m with my family, like at my grandad’s birthday last week…I don’t really feel so much like the last man standing so much as I feel like I’m that Sicilian guy who’s always rolling the boulder up a hill by himself? Cicero? ”
I smile at that. “Sisyphus. Greek.”
“Yeah. Homer, right? Anyway, I guess when you get down to it, I’m just glad I was a part of that winding road they were on. And I want to end up where they are at the end of the day. Those are the people I love and respect the most. My grandparents and my parents and Nolan and Dec and Eddie—all those guys. I don’t want to feel left behind. I think I’m just…” He finally looks up from the glass, glancing at me for one warm second. “I dunno. I know I’m a lot. But I think I got a lot to give someone. I just need that someone to believe I’ve got what it takes to be in a relationship enough for the both of us.”
Well. Shit.
“Billy O’Sullivan,” I say almost dreamily, even though I feel more awake than I’ve felt in years. “I am certain you will find someone who believes you’ve got what it takes.” He looks so disappointed all of a sudden, I reach out to touch his hand, and he just stares at my hand until I take it away. “Here I thought you were a wiseass, but you are, in fact, a wise soul. With a good heart.”
He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it. He almost looks shy all of a sudden, which is not a look I ever thought I’d see on Billy Boston’s face.
“What?” I ask. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing—I was just gonna make a joke. But then I decided to take in what you said.” He stares into his glass again, swirls the ice around again, and says, “Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot. If you meant it.”
“Of course I meant it.”
“Cool. Well, I think you’re all the good things too.”
Why is that so cute? “Surely not all of them.”
“All the ones I can think of. Probably a lot more.” He places the tumbler down on the table as if it weighs a ton and then swipes his hand across his lips, looks at me, and says, “I think maybe you bring out the best in me, Red.” Then he picks up the glass again and empties it into his mouth.
That mouth.
“Was that a line?” I instantly wish I hadn’t asked because if it was, I don’t think I want to know.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Donna Fischer.”
“A-plus” is all I have to say to that. “You know, at this point in a date, if things are going well, it’s appropriate to reach across the table and hold your date’s hand,” I offer.
When he hesitates to reach for my hand, I say, “It’s going well. Take my hand.”
He does.
And I start leaning in for a kiss…but then Saverio and, like, a thousand other people who work here parade out of the kitchen. Saverio’s holding one slice of cake with a sparkler on it, and he and the other servers are warming up and humming “Happy Birthday” to someone at a table near us. It’s a table of ten people, and the birthday girl appears to be a lady in her late seventies.
Billy lets go of my hand, his full attention now given to the birthday girl—who, as far as I know, is a total stranger to him. He stands up and joins in the singing.
“ Happy birthday to youse! ” he yell-sings. “ Happy birthday toooo yooouuuuuse! Happy birthday, dear— ” He waits to hear the name of the person he’s serenading. “ Robertaaaahhhhh! Happy wicked fuckin’ awesome birthday toooo yoooouuuuuse! ” He claps—so loudly it startles me. “ Aaaaand many moooorrrrrre! ” he chants as he jogs over to her table, picks her up out of her chair, twirls her around, and dips her. Then he gives Roberta a big old wicked awesome surprising kiss on her chubby cheek.
I hold my breath as I wait to see if Billy’s going to get slapped or not.
He doesn’t get slapped.
Roberta is absolutely delighted by him, and it might be my imagination but it seems to me that her hand slips as she hugs him and clumsily grabs his butt under his suit jacket.
I join in the applause, of course. I am very happy for Roberta. Not super happy that Billy’s pulled up a chair to join her at her table and she’s feeding him a bite of her cake, though. Definitely not pleased that he seems to have completely forgotten me over here as he introduces himself to everyone else in her party.
I mean, it’s charming. It’s not like I don’t appreciate his joie de vivre and his interest in other people. It’s just that it has become clear to me that it doesn’t take much to earn Billy Boston’s attention. You just have to exist and be in front of him. So that’s another note I can give him in the interest of teaching him how to hypothetically date someone.
And honestly, I’m a little relieved. Not hurt at all. Relieved. Because his charm was working on me. But now that I realize he makes these connections with everyone , my heart goes right back into its protective sleeve. We were connecting because that’s what Billy does. There wasn’t something special brewing between us. And that kind of connection is as fleeting as some of my relationships with my patients.
Here one minute.
Gone the next.
Like I said, I’m relieved. This means we can keep doing the no-strings thing until he gets himself a girlfriend. This means we aren’t getting attached.
A minute or five later, after I’ve checked my texts and returned from the ladies room and stacked some of the plates on our table, Billy remembers I exist and comes back to join me.
“Okay, here’s the deal. After-party at Roberta’s retirement community over in Brookline. They got a shuttle bus. Whaddya say? You can meet some potential clients.”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna head home.”
“What? Come on, it’s only eleven.”
“I know, but I have to work tomorrow, so…”
He looks disappointed. Not in me, in himself. And now I feel bad.
“But I had a really great time. Honestly. Thank you so much for a wonderful dinner. You did great.” I give him a little kiss on the cheek as I get up, gathering my things.
He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, thank you . I’ll get the check and find that guy I hired to drive us home.”
“I can just Uber home and come get my car in the morning—it’s fine, really. Just let me know when you’re free to help out at the house again. You should go hang out with your new friends.”
“Absolutely not, young lady.”
But I’m out the door before he can stop me. And I know he won’t try to catch up with me either. Not because he isn’t a gentleman. Because I think we both know we’d get pretty tangled up in strings if we get into the back seat of a car together tonight.