“Yes. Very.”
Tight-lipped, she collected mounds of paper and petitions while Lou waited. He had to make good, somehow. Was she really put off because he didn’t cover the rally? Would she change her mind about the ride? Maybe she was a bit too stoical for him. But still, there was some kind of simmering attraction at work here.
Out of nowhere, a plant worker clad in a white ALLPower T-shirt tapped Diana on her back.
“Here’s my name and number,” he said, quickly looking around. “We need to talk.”
He was gone in a flash and disappeared inside the ALLPower bus. Diana looked at the scrap of paper. On it was scribbled Larry Hines, ALLPower engineer. 524-3828.
“Who was that?” asked Lou.
“Not sure. Could be the whistle-blower we’ve been hoping for.”
He closed in and looked at the man’s name. He was mildly intrigued.
“Whistle-blower?”
“Yes. An informant from inside the plant who could tell us what’s really going on.”
“Hmm. Can you tell me more on our ride? We are still going to your garden, aren’t we Ms. Chase? Or are you punishing me for just wanting to enjoy your company?”
She looked at him and forced back a smile. Admittedly she liked him—the solid feel of him standing so close—but she didn’t want to suddenly relinquish her anger. On the other hand, maybe a bit later, she could convince him to change his mind and write about the rally.
“I’m not mad… well, maybe a little. Let’s forget it and go to the garden. It’s a place I truly love. I think you’ll like it as well.”
Probably not, thought Lou, but I’ll give it a shot. It’s the lady I like, not a bunch of flowers.
They walked to his car and got in and drove right past Chrissy. Diana waved at her and smiled. Chrissy looked at them together in the car. Now that’s an interesting couple, she thought.
They sped up the highway, talking about everything except nuclear power. He wanted to know more about Diana’s passion for education and her strong feelings for environmental issues. She was different. Classy. From another world, open-minded, and easy to talk to.
“So, you live alone?” he asked, guessing.
“Nope. Gotta dog. And you?”
“No dog. Just me. Never been married—well almost was. It didn’t work out.”
“Sorry. I’ve never been married either.”
“That’s hard to believe—a beautiful woman like you? Just never found the right guy?”
“Or he never found me.”
When they arrived at the garden she seemed to relax and forget about the story issue. It was a place her father had told her about, and she had visited it only once. For Lou, the air was somehow intoxicating. He felt light-headed and mildly euphoric, a mental state he usually got after imbibing a few shots or from that first drag on a cigarette. He had never been to a place like this and actually found it to be lovely—the large pond graced with a red wooden bridge, arching over to a small Japanese teahouse. Even the bonsai were cute.
They chatted on the drive back. He shared stories of his youth: being raised in a poor, working class family meant constant struggles, and college was an unreachable dream that, because of his athletic talent, became a miraculous reality. He was the first one in his family to attend college, and his sense of pride touched Diana; it was reminiscent of the young students she had helped in the Bronx.
When they got to her house, in one seamless motion he pulled in the driveway, squeezed the brake, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you for showing me a great new place,” he said.
She smiled. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
“There’s still some light; want to see my tiny garden? It’s a little bit of a hodgepodge; I’m still learning this green thumb stuff.”
He turned off the car and followed her down a path lined with budding azaleas. A patch of primroses was just coming up near a spread of white crocus.
“I tried planting these for the first time last year,” said Diana, pointing to the stand of peach-colored tulips, whose stately pods had just bloomed.
“Nice,” said Lou. “I never got into gardening—too messy. But this looks nice.”
“It’s a start. More will come up in the next few months.”
“Maybe I’ll get to see them.”
When they got to a small patio overlooking the lake, Diana heard Lin barking and saw her peering out the glass patio doors. Diana let her out, and the dog rushed up to Lou, barking and growling, checking him out.
“Hey Killer,” he said, kneeling down and offering his hand, careful not to pet her until she gave the signal. A few quick sniffs and the dog was licking his fingers and wagging her tail.
That will get him points, thought Diana.
The dog rolled over, her belly up, the ultimate acceptance of a new person. Lou chuckled, noticing how Diana studied the interaction. After a minute he stood up and slowly reached his arm around her waist.
“Okay to do this?” he asked.
“I guess.”
It felt more than good, but she wouldn’t let on. After all, she barely knew the man.
He let his arm rest gently, feeling the curve of her back.
“This was a nice day, but I’m afraid I have to run. Gotta catch an evening game. Wanna come along?”
“Not really,” she said, chuckling. “And I’m not going to ask for a rain check, okay?”
They both laughed. Yes, she was different, but they did seem to enjoy one another. The chemistry was good.
“So, really no story about today? Even with the hostile plant workers?” she asked in a last ditch effort.
“Um, probably not. I’m actually taking a chance being with you now.”
“What do you mean—‘taking a chance’?”
“The rule is no dating beautiful women you’ve written about.”
“How about ugly women? Does the same rule apply?”
He chuckled and took her hands in his. It felt like a perfect fit.
“It’s just not considered good form, but you’re hard to resist. If we see each other again, we would have to be discreet.”
She let her hands relax.
“Am I the reason you’re not writing about the rally?”
“Not altogether. I’m really a sportswriter and don’t know a hill of beans about nukes.”
“But it would be a shame to be scooped by Chrissy Dolan from the Register.”
“True. And you never know. My editor might need a small filler about the rally. I’ll e-mail you either way.”
He leaned in, kissed her lightly on the lips, and left.
Later that evening he kept his promise, and there was indeed an e-mail from him. The subject line read “Flowers.” She was disappointed that it didn’t say “Tomorrow’s story.”
I loved the flowers that grow in your garden. They are quite exquisite. I especially love the light peach ones with the dark brown stamens, stiffly tickling the air at one end while anchored in the deep, moist fulcrum of petals, whose concentrated energy seems to explode, fanning an organic glow.
“Whew!” said Diana out loud, smiling. “Aren’t we bold?”
Her eyes went back to the words “dark brown stamens,” and she mentally inhaled the sound of his voice saying these words. She leaned back and felt a sensation from deep inside, a desire long dormant.
Her fantasy was to call him and continue in this vein, talking him into a frenzied parlay of phone sex. But wait—was she really the kind of woman who would let herself become excited by a few lines of erotica? No. She’d never make a call like that, no matter how turned on she was.
Yet, his e-mail touched the flirty Diana, a part of her she had long forgotten. Somehow, she couldn’t pass up a response; it would be too much fun. She opened a reply page and stared at the blank, white electronic surface. Could she do it with the same poetic intensity? How many sexual metaphors could she come up with? And would they excite him as much as his did her? Finally she hit the keypad and titled the subject line “Horti-erotica.”