Shaken And Stirred
- -
- 100%
- +
Tessa muttered something incomprehensible but most likely insulting and then went back to work on the other side.
Eventually Jasmine moved on, to be replaced by Cosmopolitan Amy, Banana Daiquiri Lauren, Kamikaze Rachel, Cosmopolitan Vicki and, for one short moment, Wild Turkey Todd. The hours flew by, as they always did on a busy night, and Gabe never broke a sweat.
There were a few interventions, just as there always were. Two fake IDs, one male patron who decided that Lindy needed to show more cleavage and a couple of Red Sox fans who didn’t understand that when in Yankees territory you better keep your mouth shut or get doused in beer. Typical but never boring.
Eventually the clock struck midnight and the crowds thinned to something less than chaos. Out of the corner of his eye Gabe noticed Cain handing Seth a twenty at the back bar, which meant only one thing. There was a new bar pool on the bulletin board downstairs.
Gabe took the stairs to the basement, where the kitchen/office/storage/bathrooms were located, as well as the betting board. Sure enough, a white sheet of paper was tacked up with a grid of numbers and letters. Nothing to indicate the bet, though. When would they learn the right way to run a pool? Amateurs.
While he was enjoying the calm, Gabe began breaking down beer cases, and soon Cain was downstairs, adding a new square to the grid. Cain was quiet and bulky, a New York fireman who bartended on the weekend in order to survive. You’d think they’d pay men better to risk their lives by running into burning buildings, but no. Gabe didn’t mind, because he judged every man by how fast he could mix a martini, and Cain was almost as good as Tessa. Almost.
“What’s the bet?” Gabe asked.
“You don’t want to know,” said Cain loading a rack of glasses through the dishwasher.
“Yeah, I do.”
“It was all Sean’s idea.”
Which wasn’t encouraging. “What’s the bet?”
“How long you and Tessa can last.”
“As roommates?”
“Before you have sex.”
Gabe felt a punch in his head not unlike being clocked with a two-by-four. “You’re joking with me, right?”
Cain looked at him blandly. “No. Want to put some money down?”
Gabe swallowed. There were women that Gabe had sex with and women Gabe didn’t have sex with. In his head, Gabe had long ago covered Tessa’s body with a habit and a veil and pushed any sort of sweaty, thrusting thoughts far, far away. She’d come to New York still wearing the scars from her last relationship. In four years you’d think she’d have recovered—but, no, you’d be wrong. Tessa wasn’t like other women. She had her own set of goals, her own strange focus in life, and men weren’t a part of it, which was why she was the only woman he’d ever consider as a roommate, and only because of said habit and veil. When you lived with Mother Teresa, it wasn’t hard to keep things platonic.
However, right now it was past midnight and Gabe had been the recipient of four pairs of panties, seventeen phone numbers and assorted sexual propositions and, okay, he was a little wired.
It always happened as the night wore on. No big deal.
Gabe mentally clothed Tessa back in the habit, ordered his hard-on back in the bag, and pasted an easy smile on his face.
“You guys didn’t say anything to Tessa, did you?”
“You’re kidding, right? She put down a bet.”
Oh, God. The habit and veil were slowly being peeled away, but Gabe kept that damned smile on his face. “Poor kid, I’ll have to let her down easy. How long did she think she’d last?”
“Hell Freezes Over. Last entry, right here.” Cain pointed to the board where HFO was neatly penned in black ink.
“She said that?”
“Her exact words weren’t ambiguous, but you got a fragile ego. So you gonna bet? The pot’s almost three grand.”
Gabe continued to break down boxes with an amazing amount of compressed energy. “I won’t encourage morally bankrupt games of chance in my bar.”
“What about the Super Bowl pool, March Madness, the Subway series and last month’s bet on which patron was most likely to get breast enhancements?”
That one lapse in judgment had cost Gabe a sweet thousand dollars. And who knew that the Yankees would actually choke in the bottom of the ninth? “Shut up, Cain.”
“I have to go upstairs. Lindy can’t cover the bars alone.” “Tessa’s gone? I wanted to talk to her before she went home.” Cain shrugged. “Her shift was over. She left. If you run, you could probably catch her before she hits the subway station.”
Gabe bit back a curse and headed out into the long, lonely darkness that was Manhattan at the midnight hour. The outside air was cool and crisp and felt marvelous after being cooped up in the bar for so long. He broke into a run simply because he needed to move.
Around the corner and down two flights of stairs was the station, occupied by the usual patrons. A group of late-night partygoers trying to find their way back to Jersey. A mediocre saxophone player blowing out what was supposed to be the blues. A few kids heading home. A set of foreign tourists taking pictures. And, yes, there was Tessa, standing alone, waiting for the train.
“Why do you always do this? You know that one of us is supposed to walk you down here.”
“I haven’t needed supervision after dark since Giuliani was mayor, Gabe. Besides, I got my mace. They know not to mess with me.”
“Still.”
“What are you really here for?” she asked him quite patiently. That was Tessa. Never out of sorts. His gaze skimmed over her, checking for some sort of weakness, but there wasn’t any, which for some reason always surprised him.
Not that she was hard. Oh, no, Tessa was all cotton and smiles, but she held herself back, one step between her and the rest of the male world. Gabe included.
However, there was something oddly vulnerable about the whacked brown hair that had never seen a decent cut juxtaposed against the model-sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Like a painting half-done or a bridge half-built.
A work in progress. That was Tessa, too.
Her summer-green eyes look tired, but she was bouncing back and forth on the soles of her running shoes, still full of energy, going home to an apartment that would be gone in five days.
“I wanted to hammer out the details before you went home. I got Danny to cover for me all day on Monday, so I think we’re good to go.” He was actually there to see if the bet had unsettled her, but she didn’t look worried. So if she wasn’t worried, then he wasn’t worried either.
“You know this is only temporary.”
“As long as you need. I don’t use the room much anyway. I can put everything in storage tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare touch a thing. I won’t take up any space. Besides, this is short-term. Temporary, just like you said. I’m not going to cramp your style. It’s all about education for me, Gabe. I’ve got a few notices posted around the campus, and on craigslist, so hopefully something will pop soon and I’ll be out of your hair. Three weeks tops.”
“It doesn’t matter how long you stay. You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that, and you’re a sweet man, but I need to take care of myself.”
“I’m really not a sweet man, you know.”
“You gonna make me move in all by myself, Mr. Unsweetened Man?”
Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets. “How much furniture do you have?”
“A twin bed, a nightstand and some books,” she answered, with a remarkably sweet smile.
“Oh, yeah, that’ll take seven minutes to load up. I’ll borrow the truck from Cain and be there at ten.”
The lights of the train appeared in the tunnel and she stood on tiptoe, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek, “You really are a sweet man.”
“I’m not a sweet man.”
Tessa pointed up the tracks. “Look, that old lady—she’s getting mugged!”
Gabe took off running, but Tessa’s laughter stopped him in midstride.
“Busted!”
He walked back, whapped her on the arm. “I was going to clean up the place for you, but not anymore.”
The doors on the train slid open, and she waved before slipping inside.
Gabe didn’t bother to wave back. Sweet man, my ass.
2
MOVING DAY WAS A piece of cake. Of course, that’s the way of it when all your worldly possessions fit into three wooden packing crates. Except for the decrepit twin bed, which Gabe glared at, nostrils flaring in disdain—not a usual look for him. She didn’t like his judging her possessions—or lack thereof—and so Tessa protested a few minutes longer than she might have if he had remained glareless.
Janice, her former roommate, had already moved out, and the apartment was depressingly barren. Tessa ignored the equally depressing sensation in her gut. Moving in was always a new adventure. Moving out was another change-of-address form and another adventure squandered.
For once, Tessa wanted to know that when she changed her address it was because of something good, something positive, something that Tessa could be proud of.
Gabe, not sensing Tessa’s emotional turmoil (typical male), hovered over the thin metal frame and then poked a finger at the mattress. “This is your bed?”
It was stupid to get worked up over a mattress that belonged in a Dumpster, but seeing Gabe mentally inventorying her life reminded her of how far she still had to go.
“A featherweight mattress is easier to move.” She slung it over one shoulder to demonstrate. “See?”
He stood firm. “That’s not going into my place.”
“This is my bed. What am I supposed to sleep on?”
Gently Gabe disentangled her fingers from their death grip on the mattress. “I’ll buy you a futon.”
“I hate those,” she began and then stopped, sighed. There was no point in lying—she loved futons. “I don’t want you buying me furniture. I can afford it.” And she could. Her savings account was surprisingly healthy considering her lack of furniture and fashionable attire. Tessa had priorities—namely the perfect one-bedroom apartment in Hudson Towers.
And it was perfect. A prewar building on West End Avenue. With a board that kept out the riffraff, but wasn’t crazy-stringent about it either. Reasonable rents and maintenance fees a full seven percent less than the average. They had redone the shared space four years ago, a great use of morning light and windows. The place had a part-time doorman, Rodney, which was much more sensible than hiring a full-time doorman who would only sit on his heinie all day and earn union wages from overpriced rents.
Ah, someday…
“You sure you can afford a bed?” Gabe asked, pulling her out of her apartment fantasies. She hadn’t planned on buying a new bed, but her old one was on its last legs, literally. At her nod, he tossed the mattress in the corner.
After that, she picked up a crate and headed for the door. “First ground rule—no more making fun of Tessa’s stuff. Observe the boundaries, we’ll be fine.”
He opened the door for her, politely following behind. “Deal. Now let’s get you home.”
GABE’S BUILDING WAS A postwar elevator building on the Upper East Side. The outside was a little too seventies for her own taste, but since he’d owned it for over ten years and it was probably worth close to seven figures, she figured she’d give him a break. That, and the cut-rate—i.e. free—rent. That had been another argument she had lost. However, as a consolation prize he’d let her buy lunch.
In the lobby there was a full-time doorman, Herb, a teapot of a man with a five-o’clock shadow on steroids. And once they got to Gabe’s floor she noticed the nice view, without parking garages to block the sight of the East River.
All in all, the apartment was as she’d imagined. A legitimate two-bedroom, not one of those skimpy conversions from a large one-bedroom. The main living area had all the basic essentials: television, couch and a dining table, mostly covered with newspapers. The kitchen was galley-style and definitely not big enough for two. However, the appliances were a step above what she was used to.
“You can live here?” he asked while she examined it room by room.
Thoughtfully she walked around, keeping her face nonjudgmental, wanting to make him nervous. “Yup,” she answered quietly.
He backed against the wall, far away from her—but not far enough. She was used to him at work, but this felt different. More intimate. If it hadn’t been for that stupid bet, she wouldn’t be nervous at all.
There was a silence, an awkward silence. A silence she normally would’ve filled, except she knew he would’ve seen through that because she wasn’t a social chitchat gal. He folded his hands across his chest, not seemingly affected at all. Of course, he was used to silence. He was used to living alone.
He.
Gabe.
Tessa felt it again. That fast leap in her stomach, like flying downhill on the Cyclone. She shrugged it off. Life was full of ups and downs and screeching corners, and she wasn’t about to let a little chronic stomach anxiety ruin anything.
This was temporary. She’d be out of his hair soon enough.
She put on a cocky smirk and looked around, anywhere but at him. “It’s great. Listen, I should go study,” she said and promptly fled the room.
FOUR HOURS LATER, SHE was already settled, sitting on her brand-new futon. The earlier flicker of fear had caught her by surprise. And it wasn’t just any fear. No, it was the dreaded man-fear. The implications of living with Gabe had suddenly hit her in places where she didn’t want to feel those complicated implications.
Denny had been the only man she had ever lived with, and in those young, naive days, he had convinced her that she didn’t need to worry about her future. College? Nah. If she only hooked up with Denny Ericcson, then all her dreams would come true. So Tessa deferred the college years, took a part time job as a bartender and spent her days tanning on the sunny Florida beaches. But then her twenty-second birthday arrived. Denny told her that the relationship had gone stale and he was ready to move on, because he wasn’t the one-woman-forever type. Putting her out to pasture at twenty-two.
Dreams could come true? Ha. More like nightmares.
Needless to say, the last four years had been manless. No hookups, no man dreams and, yes, there’d been times in the past when she’d felt momentary urges, but nothing lasting. As a bartender, it was expected that your customers would hit on you. You learned how to either brush aside the urges or act on them. Tessa was a brush-asider, always a brush-asider.
And, to be honest, she’d had urges for Gabe before, too, because, well, she wasn’t blind, or stupid, and Gabe was…
Oh, God. Living with him was going to kill her study skills.
Even her room was filled with his presence, and he wasn’t even here. She felt like an intruder in this place that was so obviously his.
A metal desk stood in the corner, covered with O’Sullivan family photos, papers nearly overflowing the top. A weight bench sat next to the window, and a monstrous collection of vinyl records sat in open boxes in the corner. Her first thought was to snoop, but that was a violation of all the roommate privacy regulations that she kept dear.
No, she was going to study, so Tessa covered her face with her accounting book, blocking out all temptation. Eventually the sinking fund method of depreciation brought her back to a mind-numbing cold reality. And then, as if to really drag her back to reality, her mother called.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, abandoning all pretense of studying and wandering over to look at the O’Sullivan family pictures.
“How did you know it was me? Were you thinking of your favorite mother?”
“Caller ID, Mom.” Her mom was a Luddite where technology was concerned, but Tessa forgave her for it.
“Your phone’s been disconnected.”
With a heavy and completely audible sigh, Tessa put back the photo of three dark-headed boys in Little League uniforms.
“I moved, Mom,” she said, before mouthing the word Again?
“Again?”
Argh.
“Mom, you don’t understand the Manhattan apartment market. Rents are always changing, fees are going up, rentals turn into co-ops overnight. You have to stay on your toes, ready to handle whatever comes your way.”
“That assumes that someone can handle whatever comes their way.”
“How long have I lived on my own?”
“You’ve been in New York for four years, but you never have lived on your own. You should come back to Florida, Tessa. Your family is here and we can help you.”
Tessa returned to the comfort of her futon and leaned her head against the wooden back. This was a horse that’d been beaten, eviscerated and then hung on the wall as modern art. “Thank you, Mom, but no. I love you, and Florida’s grand, but I’m doing fine here. Honestly.”
“I just worry. If something happens, who’s going to take care of you? Are you eating okay?”
“Pastrami and rye for lunch.”
“Getting enough sleep?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tessa answered, stifling a yawn.
“How are the classes going?” Her mom had never approved of her going back for a degree, which meant only one thing: there was an ulterior motive to this conversation, and Tessa probably wasn’t going to like it.
Time to transition from negative energy to something positive—like hanging up.
“Good. Listen, Mom, I have an accounting quiz this week and I need to study. Talk to you soon,’ bye.”
Because she didn’t like the idea of lying to her mom, she opened her accounting book and went after it again. However, her concentration was elsewhere, poking through the record collection, browsing the photos. In short, being everything she hated in a nosy person. So Tessa loaded up her book bag, stuck her feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed for the door.
Sacked out on the living room couch, sleeping peacefully, without a worry in the world, was the source of her wandering concentration. It must be marvelous to take a nap in the afternoon. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him sleep. He’d been the one constant in her life since she’d moved to New York, but she’d never seen him sleep. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, one arm flung over the edge. He even snored a little, a comfortable rumble that was low and even. She’d have to tease him about that. A plaid throw dangled from one armrest, and she took it, tucking it around him.
Instantly the hazy blue eyes opened. “Problem?”
Tessa jumped back, caught red-headed in the act of intruding on his space. “Heading off to Starbucks.”
Gabe didn’t seem to notice her violation, instead rubbing at his forehead with two fingers. “Sounds great. Can you bring me back a cup?”
“I’m going to study and then I’m heading for class.”
He sat up, tossing the throw aside, and Tessa took another step back. Wow, twelve hundred square feet could really be tiny at times.
“You can study here. Set up at the table or the desk in the back room. I can toss my stuff on the floor.”
“I have trouble concentrating. It’s a self-discipline tactic. When I go to the coffee shop, I know I’m there to study.”
“Ha. Some people go for coffee. Unenlightened plebes.”
She was about to launch into a lecture, but he held up a hand. “I know, I know. I won’t interfere. Personal space. Sorry. This is new to me. What about dinner? I’m thinking either pasta or Thai.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab a sandwich after class. And FYI, I’ll be back around seven in case you want to get out, or, uh, have company or something.”
His mouth twitched. “Sure.”
TESSA’S ACCOUNTING CLASS was at the Knightsbridge Community College in Queens, which overlooked Flushing Bay. Forty people comprised her class. Young students, old students, an ethnic smorgasbord from all walks of life. Tessa had never doubted her abilities to breeze through this class with eyes closed, but…
Last week’s test was the first item on the menu, and Professor Lewis walked up and down the aisles, handing out papers with a smile or a frown. When he reached Tessa, he frowned.
She frowned in return.
Her frown grew even darker when she saw the fat red D scrawled on the top of the test. This had to be a mistake, because a failing grade was not part of her life plan.
She waited patiently through the lecture, sneaking a peek at the paper every few minutes, checking to make sure she had read it correctly—maybe it was a half-assed B—but, no, with all the red circles, there was no mistake.
After the clock ticked the hour and her classmates started to file out, Tessa walked up to the prof’s desk on slightly wobbly legs, reminding herself that she faced angry drunks at three in the morning. This shouldn’t be a problem. Professor Lewis was long past middle age, with a thin, ruddy face that indicated a long love affair with, most likely, scotch.
“I wanted to talk to you about the test,” said Tessa, giving him the opening to immediately correct her grade.
He gave a long look at the clock, as though he was ready to take off, and then started drumming his pencil eraser on the desk. Too bad, buddy.
“There’s not much to say, Miss Hart. You stumbled over key concepts. Allowance for Doubtful Accounts and Inventory Flow, and you made a mess of the Statement of Changes in Financial Position. I was horribly disappointed in your work. Substandard. Are you sure you studied?”
“Didn’t everyone do equally bad?” she asked, because she had spent three days going over formulas and she could feel her blood pressure elevating, possibly in anger but probably in pure ice-bitten anxiety.
“Actually, the average was quite high. Eighty-three.”
Which meant no curve, which meant she still had a D. Damn. Her blood pressure notched up higher.
“Look, I don’t think you understand,” she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “I can’t make a C in this class, much less a D. It’s A or B all the way, because if I come out of community college with anything less than a three-point-oh, I’ll be screwed at getting into anyplace else. And at this juncture in my life’s journey I really need to be thinking beyond a two-year degree. I need a future. I need a career.”
“I feel your pain.”
Oh, I bet you do. Typical scotch drinker, always thinking of yourself.
“Can I make this up with extra credit? An assignment, a paper, something, anything?”
“Study hard for the final, Miss Hart. That’ll clean your grade up nicely.”
Tessa shoved the paper low in her book bag. “Thanks,” she murmured through clenched teeth and headed outside.
COLLEGE WAS NOT supposed to be this hard. She had aced high school, graduated with honors. This was college. A community college. Not even a four-year program. Everyone had told her that it’d be easy. Sean had told her she would finish with flying colors—summa cumma whoma. So why was she having problems?
Tessa considered going back to Gabe’s place, but she wasn’t in full control yet. The test was burning a hole in her bag. She was going to have to convince him that everything was peachy. So she did what she always did when she wanted to regain control: she took the Manhattan apartment tour.
She started by heading south down Fifth Avenue, the setting sun glinting on the windows. Her favorite building was the San Remo, with the two white finial-topped towers that stood guard over Central Park. The building was all 1930s art deco and class, the grand dame of co-ops in the city. Old, with a history that was older than Carnegie.
The board was rumored to be less fussy than the one at the Dakota, but they had ixnayed Madonna as a tenant back in the eighties, so they did have some minimal standards. There was a full-time doorman, a plethora of classic six and seven floor plans and a stunning limestone cartouche that rose above the entrance like a magnificent eagle.
Two blocks south was the Dakota, “the” address in New York. People who lived here were looking for an address, a destination in life. Personally Tessa thought it was overrated because the old building looked like a medieval prison instead of a home. There was no personality, only accoutrements out the wazoo. By the time the sun had quit the day, she had walked past the Beresford, 740 Central Park West and the Ardsley. These were the apartment buildings that defied gravity in the real-estate market.