“It is now, I guess,” she said, the words musical, like the tinkling of exotic wind chimes on the steppes of Central Asia.
Jeffrey sat and held up his almost-empty tumbler in a cheer, and she raised her martini glass in kind, the smile returning as her eyes devoured him, a willing sacrifice to the goddess before him.
“You’re almost dry,” she observed, draining another third of her drink with elegant relish.
“I plan to fix that right now. Cosmo?” he asked, and she nodded. He held up two fingers to the bartender and the man nodded before busying himself with their order. Jeffrey turned back to his new friend. “Rough day?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she agreed with a small shrug.
“I’ll bet mine could top it,” Jeffrey tried, and she gave him a skeptical look.
“I doubt it. I’ve just spent the last nine hours in a closed-door negotiation with some of the most tedious clods in Washington. Toward the end I wanted to stab myself in the eye with my pen just to get out of sitting there one more second.”
“Ouch. Sounds horrible. Are you staying at the hotel?”
“No. I live in town. But I needed a drink after that before I go home.”
“What do you do?”
She gave him an appraising glance and smiled mischievously again, raising one eyebrow in the process. “Is that a personal question?”
He blushed. Thankfully, the bartender arrived with two fresh drinks, saving him further embarrassment.
“No, no. I meant, what were you doing in the meeting? Are you an attorney or something?” he tried again.
“I wish. I’m the personal assistant to one of the bigwigs. Which means the same long hours the shiftless lawyers work for a fraction of the pay.” She held her new drink up to the light, as if distrustful of it, then tasted it before nodding in approval. “What about you? What’s your story?”
“I’m here for a job interview. Looks like I aced it, so I’m going to be moving to Washington soon.”
“Really! Congratulations. That sounds like as good a reason as any to celebrate on a Saturday night…” She clinked the base of her glass against his. “What kind of job?” she asked, sounding genuinely interested.
Jeffrey grimaced. “I almost hate to tell you. I’m one of those shiftless lawyers who gets paid way too much for doing very little.”
Her eyes widened and it was her turn to look embarrassed. “I totally didn’t mean it like that…”
“No offense taken. Besides, after a day like today, drinking with a beautiful woman at the Four Seasons qualifies as one of the best things that could happen to me. Even if she hates lawyers.”
“I don’t hate lawyers. It was just an expression. A figure of speech.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone hates lawyers. It’s the American way. I know. And we mostly deserve it,” he said, and she reappraised him, her eyebrow rising again in a way that he found extremely sexy. Then again, there wasn’t much about her he didn’t find arousing, and it wasn’t just the booze talking.
“So seriously. What are you doing to celebrate your big day?” she asked.
“I was thinking about problem drinking and then passing out to TV news.”
“Wow. You go, wild man. By the way, I’m Monica. What’s your name?” she asked, offering a slim hand to him.
“Jeff. Jeffrey Rutherford.”
“And where are you from, Jeffrey Rutherford, esquire?” she asked, a slight mocking tone in her voice.
“San Francisco. The city by the bay.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sing that Journey song next.”
“Only if they start karaoke early in this joint.”
They enjoyed their drinks, bantering back and forth, and Jeffrey learned that Monica was born and raised in D.C., had attended Georgetown and gotten a degree in Liberal Arts, and had been working for the same corporation straight out of college for the last four years.
“I hate it, but it pays the bills.”
“A familiar story. Kind of why I show up for work every day instead of going sailing.”
“Really? Do you sail?”
“Not nearly enough. So tell me. What’s a beautiful, intelligent young lady like you doing hanging in a place like this on a weekend night? Don’t you have a date or something?”
She pouted. “Not likely in this town. The ratio of women to men is sick. Basically if it’s male and has a pulse, much less a job, it’s in high demand. You’ll see when you move here. When is that, by the way?”
“Next week.”
“Really? And have you ever been here before?”
Jeffrey decided not to mention his brother’s service last Tuesday. “Once or twice. But always for short visits.”
“Well, there are some pretty happening places if you know where to go. If you’re with a local, I mean. In fact, I could probably be convinced to show you a few spots if you’re game. I don’t know what your schedule’s like…”
Jeffrey’s heart fluttered. “I have nothing planned. But I don’t have a car.”
“I do.”
She slammed the rest of her drink and pushed it away, and he followed suit and waved the bartender over, paying for the drinks with the hundred Roger had left.
“Well, Jeffrey, I guess you’re now my captive audience. I don’t normally troll high-end hotels for out-of-town lawyers, but you’re a cute one, so what the hell, you only live once,” she said, the smile still in her voice, the alcohol giving her a welcome lift. “Promise you won’t cut me up and bury me in a shallow grave, and we should get along fine.”
“I could break a nail or strain something, so I gave that up years ago. I promise,” Jeffrey intoned gravely.
She stood, and he was happy to note that her body was in keeping with her face. She filled out her outfit in all the right places, and he felt like pinching himself when she took his arm and led him out of the bar.
“All right, Jeffrey. I hope you’ve got some stamina, because I like to dance, and it’s Saturday night. Get ready to do your best John Travolta.”
“Call me Baryshnikov,” he said, and they weaved into the lobby, where Monica presented her valet stub and took up position by the front entrance. A red Alfa Romeo convertible pulled up in a few minutes, and the valet held her door open as she handed him a few bills. Jeffrey squeezed himself into the passenger seat and she wedged her briefcase behind the backrest, and then she was revving the engine as they flew off the grounds and into traffic, the engine straining as she pointed the car at the flickering lights of the nation’s capital, Jeffrey smiling ear to ear next to her as she raced through the gears like they were running from the law.
FOURTEEN
Monica
Between the second club and the third, Jeffrey learned that Monica lived with two roommates near Foggy Bottom — female friends from college who had banded together to make ends meet and live in a nicer district than any of them could have afforded on their own. After leaving the hotel she’d stopped outside one of dozens of buildings and disappeared, returning after a few minutes wearing jeans and a colorful top with a long overcoat protecting her svelte form from the cold. Jeffrey felt like a nerd in his business casual, but she shushed him, and by the time they’d hit the third disco they were dancing together like they’d been a couple forever, her body melding to his in a way he’d never experienced.
She explained over the music that she’d taken dance lessons for years, and at one point, when she’d been fourteen, had wanted to be a ballerina in the worst way, but competition was fierce and she’d been passed over for the scholarships that would have been necessary to do it in earnest. Not so the academic scholarship that had gotten her into Georgetown, although she’d also amassed a daunting pile of student loans that she was paying down, and would be for the foreseeable future.