"I know what it is," Laurie responded. "But what does it mean?" She was pleased. Putting pressure on Jack had the benefit of keeping her own emotions in check. A slight smile even appeared at the corners of her mouth as she watched him squirm.
"Be specific, you ass!" Lou barked at Jack. "Pop the question!"
Jack realized what Laurie had done, and a smile came to his face as well. "All right, all right!" he said, quieting Lou. "Laurie, my love, despite the danger in the past that has befallen those I love and hold dear and my fear such danger could extend to you, would you marry me?"
"That's more like it!" Lou said, holding his glass again in the air. "I propose a toast to Jack's proposal."
This time everyone drank.
"Well?" Jack repeated, redirecting attention to Laurie.
Laurie thought for a moment before answering. "I know your fears and understand their origin. I just don't share them. Be that as it may, I fully accept the risk, whether real or imagined. If something is to happen to me, it will be my fault entirely. With that caveat, yes, I would love to marry you."
Everyone cheered as Jack and Laurie exchanged a self-conscious kiss and awkward hug. Laurie then took the ring from the box and tried it on. She extended her hand to look at it. "It fits perfectly. It's exquisite!"
"I borrowed one of your rings for a day to be sure of the size," Jack admitted.
"Not the biggest rock in the world," Lou said. "Did it come with a magnifying glass?"
Jack threw his napkin at Lou, who caught it before it wrapped around his face.
"Your best friends are always honest." Lou laughed. He handed the napkin back.
"It's a perfect size," Laurie said. "I don't like jewelry to be gaudy."
"You got your wish," Lou added. "No one is going to call it gaudy."
"When will the big day be?" Natalie asked.
Jack looked at Laurie. "Obviously, we haven't talked about it, but I think I'll leave it up to Laurie."
"Really?" Laurie questioned.
"Really," Jack answered.
"Then I'd like to talk to my mom about the timing. She's let me know on many an occasion in the past that she'd like me to have my wedding at the Riverside Church. I know that was where she had wanted to be married herself, but it didn't happen. If it's all right, I'd like her to have a say as to the timing and the place."
"Fine by me," Jack said. "Now where's that waiter? I need some more champagne."
Boston, Massachusetts October 9, 2005 4:45 p.m.
(one month later)
It had been a great workout. Craig Bowman had used the weight room for a half-hour to tone up and stretch. Then he'd gotten into a series of competitive, pickup, three-on-three basketball games. By pure luck, he'd managed to be teamed up with two talented players. For well over an hour, he and his teammates had not lost and had given up the court only from sheer exhaustion. After the basketball, Craig had indulged himself with a massage followed by a steam and shower.
Now, as Craig stood in front of the mirror in the VIP section of the Sports Club/LA men's locker room and regarded himself critically, he had to admit he looked better than he had in years. He'd lost twenty-two pounds and an inch from his waist since he'd joined the club six months ago. Perhaps even more apparent was the disappearance of the pudgy sallowness of his cheeks. In its place was a healthy, rosy glow. As an attempt to appear more contemporary, he'd let his sandy-colored hair grow out a bit, and then had it styled at a salon such that he now brushed it back on both sides rather than parting it on the left as he'd done for as long as he could remember. From his perspective, the overall change was so remarkable that had he seen himself a year ago he wouldn't have recognized himself. He surely was no longer the stodgy, bromidic doctor.
Craig's current routine was to come to the club three times a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Of the three days, Friday was the best, since it was the least crowded and afforded the psychological stimulus of the weekend stretching out in front of him with all its promise. As a standing policy, he'd decided to close the office at noon on Fridays and take calls with his cell phone. That way, Leona could come with him to work out. As a present for her as well as himself, he'd sprung for a second membership.
Several weeks previously, Leona had moved in with him at his Beacon Hill home. She'd decided on her own that it was ridiculous for her to pay for an apartment in Somerville when she was staying with him every night. Craig initially had been miffed about the move, because there had been no discussion and it had been presented as a fait accompli. To him it seemed coercive just when he was reveling in his new freedom. But, after a few days, he had adjusted. He had forgotten the power of eroticism. Also, he rationalized that the living arrangement could be reversed with ease if the need arose.
Craig's final preparation was to slip on his new Brioni jacket. After shrugging his shoulders a few times to settle it into place, he glanced back into the mirror. Turning his head from side to side to view himself from slightly different angles, he briefly entertained the idea of studying acting instead of art. The notion brought a smile to his face. He knew his imagination was running wild yet the thought was not completely preposterous. As well as things were going, he couldn't help feel that the world was his oyster.
When Craig was fully dressed, he checked his cell phone for messages. He was in the clear. The plan was to head back to the apartment, relax with a glass of wine and the newest New England Journal of Medicine for an hour or so, then on to the Museum of Fine Arts to check out the current exhibition, and finally go to dinner at a new, trendy restaurant in the Back Bay.
Whistling under his breath, Craig walked from the locker room out into the main lobby of the club. To his left was the sign-in desk, while to his right down a corridor past the bank of elevators were the bar and restaurant. Muted music could be heard from the general area. Although the athletic facilities were generally not crowded on Friday afternoons, happy hour at the bar was another story and was just beginning to gear up.
Craig checked his watch. He'd timed things perfectly. It was quarter to five: the exact time he'd agreed to meet Leona. Although they came to the club and left together, while they were there, they each did their own thing. Leona was currently into the stair machine, Pilates, and yoga, none of which thrilled Craig.
A quick visual sweep of the sitting area confirmed that Leona had yet to emerge from the women's side. Craig wasn't surprised. Along with a relative lack of reserve, punctuality was not one of her strong points. He took a seat, perfectly content to watch the parade of attractive people coming and going. Six months ago, in a similar circumstance he would have felt like the odd man out. Now he felt entirely at ease, but no sooner had he gotten comfortable than Leona appeared, coming through the women's locker room door.
Just as he had critically regarded himself a few minutes earlier, Craig gave Leona a quick once-over. The workouts were benefiting her as well, though, due to her comparative youth, she'd been firm, rosy-cheeked, and shapely from the start. As she drew near, he could appreciate that she was an attractive as well as a high-spirited and headstrong young woman. Her main handicap from Craig's perspective was her Revere, Massachusetts, accent and syntax. Particularly grating was her tendency to pronounce every word ending in an "er" as if it ended in a short but harsh "a." Believing he had her interests at heart, Craig had tried to call her attention to her habit with the hope of getting her to change, but she'd reacted angrily, venomously accusing him of being an Ivy League elitist. So Craig had wisely given up. Over time, his ear had acclimated to a degree, and in the heat of the night he really didn't care whether she had an accent.