Jennifer carefully went over the schedule of events in which he was to participate. He listened attentively, asked pertinent questions, and their business was accomplished in less than an hour.
Jennifer gathered her notes and rose. He stood, too, seemingly reluctant to end the interview.
“Thanks for coming out here,” he said. “It was kind of you to let me know the rundown as soon as you got it.”
Jennifer moved to leave and was startled when he detained her with his hand on her arm.
She looked up at him. He remained with his fingers clasping her wrist.
“Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?” he said suddenly.
Jennifer stared at him, stunned. She had not expected this, after their last encounter.
He waited, his face impassive.
Jennifer didn’t know what to say. Did she want to go? Was the sky blue? But this man unsettled her; he was so out of the common way, so new to her experience, that he was at once fascinating and unnerving. She had no idea what to expect from a social evening with him. Except that it wouldn’t be dull.
“I...I think I’d like that,” she heard herself say. Lee’s expression softened.
“Great. I’ll call you, then?”
“Fine,” Jennifer said, escaping.
She drove back to the office in a daze, unable to believe that she had a date with the National Football League’s Most Valuable Player three years in a row, the Cawassa Comet, the Blackfoot Bullet, Bradley Beaufort Youngson.
* * * *
Jennifer changed three times for her dinner with Lee Youngson. He had telephoned on Thursday, asking if Chez Odette would be all right and saying that he would pick her up at eight.
Chez Odette was a fancy French restaurant on the outskirts of New Hope, very atmospheric, with a picturesque setting on the barge canal of the Delaware River. She didn’t have much that was suitable to wear to such a place, and she tortured herself with various combinations of clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, until in desperation she went back to her first idea and settled on that.
She waited nervously for him to arrive, dressed in a pale blue linen suit with a sheer blouse designed to reveal a delicate, lacy camisole beneath. Milky pearls gleamed at her ears and in the hollow of her throat. She had teamed high-heeled pumps with a leather clutch bag and sprayed herself with her most expensive perfume. She was ready.
Jennifer listened for the low hum of Lee’s sports car, checking herself in the mirror again, patting her hair. It hung loose and shining to her shoulders. Her lipstick was fresh and her eye shadow properly muted.
She looked at her watch. It was 7:45.
She spent twelve agonizing minutes thinking about everything that could go wrong until the doorbell rang at three minutes to eight. She’d been so absorbed in her contemplation of doom that she hadn’t heard the car after all.
Jennifer opened the door, and they looked at each other. Lee was wearing a nubbly raw silk jacket, the color of sand, obviously tailor-made, that emphasized his imposing physique. The off-white shirt and figured tie perfectly complemented his coat and the brown, well-cut slacks. She recognized Gucci loafers. No expense spared when escorting Ms. Gardiner.
His eyes moved from Jennifer’s face, down her body, and then back to her face again. “You look lovely,” he said softly.
So do you, Jennifer thought, as he guided her down the path to his car and handed her into the passenger seat. She noticed again that fine apparel only seemed to underline his aspect of brooding, primal strength. Just below the surface was the magnificent leashed animal, latent, powerful. The window dressing only served to make him more of what he was. The effect was dynamite.
I’ll bet he knows it, too, Jennifer mused as she settled back for the ride. I have to keep my cool, she thought again. Whatever had made him ask her out and renew their relationship, she mustn’t read too much into it.
The drive to the restaurant was wonderful, cool and breezy, laden with the fragrance of late summer flowers. Lee asked her if she wanted him to leave the top down, and she said yes, thinking that she could repair whatever damage occurred when they got to the restaurant. The glorious feel of the wind in her hair was worth it. He offered her the choice of his collection of tapes, and she examined the stack. He had a collection of classical pieces, for which she wasn’t in the mood, and some jazz, which she didn’t like. At the bottom she found several vintage rock ‘n’ roll albums. She selected Buddy Holly, and the familiar sounds of “Peggy Sue” and “Not Fade Away” floated into the evening air.
They knew Lee Youngson at Chez Odette. Waiters came running from all directions when they entered, and the maitre d’ was obsequious. The main dining room was crowded, but they were shown immediately to the best table, out of the traffic pattern, with a view of the gardens below them. Jennifer wondered who Lee’s companions had been on his previous visits.
She glanced around her as they were seated. The whole restaurant was furnished in gold and white French provincial, with creamy damask tablecloths and patterned linen napkins at each table. There was a large vase of fresh flowers, roses and carnations, in the center of theirs, which complemented the color of the shell pink, delicate china and the heavy, gleaming silver. Chez Odette was rich in atmosphere. She was sure the patrons paid for it.
Jennifer excused herself to go to the powder room and tidy her hair. Heads turned as she passed, and she heard the murmur of muted comments. Lee’s date was a source of interest.
When she returned, she found that Lee had ordered wine, but there was only one glass, at her place. He stood to seat her, and she asked why he wasn’t having any.
“What’s the matter with you, Jennifer? You know Indians aren’t supposed to drink. Can’t handle demon firewater. Don’t you watch old movies?”
Her eyes flashed to his face. When he made a remark like this, she still didn’t know whether he was kidding or not.
He met her gaze intently for a moment, and then smiled slightly. “Relax, paleface. I’m in training. You go ahead, though.”
Jennifer sipped sparingly. She had no intention of getting giddy while he sat there observing her soberly. And she wasn’t sure she cared for his calling her “paleface.” There was an edge to his voice when he said it tonight that she didn’t like.
“You stick to the rules, don’t you?” she said pleasantly. “Daily workouts, no tobacco, no booze, no drugs.” Bob hadn’t had the same reverence for his body. His drunken bouts, and the fines which followed, had given him a reputation as a bad risk.
“It’s made me what I am today,” Lee said cynically.
“There’s no need to be snide,” Jennifer responded. “I meant it as a compliment.” She couldn’t understand his behavior. It was almost as if he wanted to punish her for the time of silence following the Heart Fund game. Was that the reason for this dinner invitation?
“Did you?” he said. “That’s a first.”
Why was he doing this? “I think your dedication is admirable,” she added, trying to smooth the waters.
He raised his water glass in a mock toast. “Coming from a paragon of self-discipline like you, that’s high praise indeed.”
“If you asked me out only because you wanted to needle me, you’re wasting your money. You could have done that on the job, where I would have been more disposed to tolerate it,” Jennifer said quietly. “This is not my idea of a good time.”
He dropped his eyes, avoiding looking at her for a moment. Then his brown hand covered hers on the immaculate tablecloth.
“Nor mine either,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”
The touch of his slender fingers was electric, the sound of her name on his lips more intoxicating then the wine she was drinking. This one was a shaman like his great-grandfather, weaving spells to break your heart.
“Harold told me that your ex-husband was an athlete,” he said unexpectedly.
“Yes.” And here I am with you, Jennifer thought. Still running true to type.
“Football?” he asked, not letting the subject drop.