those ugly memories out into the open and looking long and hard at them. She was still feeling down about it when she got home. She hated remembering those things, and all the times her father had hurt her feelings and her mother had turned a deaf ear and blind eye and never come to her defense. Her own mother. The only one who ever had was Gracie.
And what did that say about her? That her own mother didn’t love her? Nor her father. And the only one who could was a child, who didn’t know any better. It told her that no intelligent adult could love her, not even her parents. And she had to learn to remind herself now that it was a flaw in their psychological makeup, not her own.
She turned on her computer when she got home and checked her e-mail. She had one from Gracie, telling her what was happening at school, and about a drama with a new boy she had a crush on. At sixteen she had more boys circling her at one time than Victoria had had in a lifetime, even if they were just kids. The voice on her computer said she had mail as she finished reading Gracie’s message with a grin. And then she switched over to see who it was. She didn’t recognize the e-mail address at first, and as she read it again, it clicked for her immediately: Jack Bailey. The new chemistry teacher at lunch in the student lounge. She opened his e-mail quickly, trying not to feel anxious. It could have been something about school or one of the students they shared, and she sat staring at the e-mail after she read it.
Victoria sat staring at it endlessly, wondering what it meant. Friendship? A date? Someone who had no friends in New York and was just lonely? Did he like her? She felt like Gracie with her high school romances as she tried to read between the lines. It made her nervous, and maybe it was just what it appeared to be. Dinner and a play on a Saturday night, offered by a nice guy. They could figure out the rest later, if they wanted to go out again. She couldn’t wait to tell Harlan about it when he got home.
“That’s what they call dating, Victoria. A guy asks you out. He offers to feed you, possibly entertainment, in this case a play. And if you both have fun, you do it again. What did you answer?” He asked with interest, but he was happy for her. She looked excited.
“Nothing. I wasn’t sure what to say. How do you know it’s a date?”
“Time of day. Offer of food. Entertainment provided. Saturday night. Your sexes, your ages, career in common. You’re both single. I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet that this is a date.” He was laughing at her, and she looked nervous.
“Maybe he just wants to be friends.”
“Maybe. But plenty of romances start as friendships. Since you both work at a fancy school, I don’t think he’s an ax murderer. He doesn’t appear to have any serious addictions, or substance abuse issues. He probably hasn’t been recently arrested. I think you’d probably be safe for dinner and a play. If not, you can always carry Mace.” She grinned at the suggestion.
“Besides, this isn’t just his show, you know. You might decide
“Why would I do that? He’s smart, he’s nice looking. He went to MIT. He’s got a lot more going for him than I do. He could go out with anyone he wanted.”
“Yes, and so could you. And besides, he asked
“What’s that?” Victoria asked with a puzzled expression.
“You meet a guy who is so gorgeous it knocks you flat on your ass, and you can hardly breathe when you see him. He’s brilliant, charming, and funny, as well as the best-looking guy you’ve ever seen. Maybe he even drives a Ferrari. Then you see him eat a lamb chop, like he was born in a stable and eats like a pig in a trough, and you never want to see him again.” Victoria burst out laughing at what he said.
“Can’t you teach him table manners?” she asked innocently.
Harlan shook his head with a determined look. “Never. It’s too embarrassing. And so is introducing a guy like that to your friends, while he sits at the table, slobbering over his lamb chop, slurping his soup, and licking his fingers. Forget the guys who eat like Tom Jones. You can check him out at the diner,” he said seriously, while Victoria grinned.
“Okay. I’ll order lamb chops and offer him one.”
“Trust me. It’s the ultimate test. You can live with almost anything else.” They were both laughing by then, and he was teasing her, but there was a small degree of truth to what he said. It was hard to predict in the beginning what would totally melt your heart about someone, or turn you off forever. Guys who tipped badly or left no tip at all, were rude to waiters, or crude, had always been a turn-off for her. She had never considered lamb chops before. “So what are you going to do now?” Harlan asked her. “I suggest you accept his invitation. I can’t remember the last time you had a date, and you probably can’t either.”
“Yes, I can,” she said defensively. “I went on a date in L.A. this summer. He was someone I was in eighth grade with, and I ran into him at our swim club.”
“So? You didn’t mention him before.”
“He was incredibly boring. He sells real estate for his mother, and he spent the whole dinner talking about his low back pain, his migraines, and his hereditary bunions. It was a pretty boring evening.”
“Jesus, you wonder how a guy like that ever gets laid. He must not get a lot of second dates.” They were both laughing at her description. “I hope you didn’t sleep with him.”
“No,” she said primly, “he had a headache. And so did I by dessert. I ate dinner and left. He called a couple of times after that, and I lied and told him I’d gone back to New York. Fortunately, I didn’t run into him again.”
“In light of that experience, I think you ought to go out with the chemistry teacher. If he’s not signing up for bunion surgery and doesn’t get a migraine at dinner, you’ll be way ahead of the game.”
“I think you’re right,” she said, and went to answer Jack Bailey’s e-mail. She told him she accepted with pleasure and it sounded like fun. She offered to pay her share, since they were both poverty-stricken teachers. He e-mailed that it wasn’t necessary, as long as she didn’t mind dinner at the diner, and told her he’d pick her up on Saturday. It was done. All she had to do now, she realized as she went to tell Harlan, was figure out what to wear.
“A very, very, very short skirt,” he answered without hesitation. “With legs like yours, you should only wear miniskirts. I wish I had those legs,” he teased her, but what he said was true. She had long, beautiful, graceful legs that drew all attention away from her thicker middle. And he thought she had a pretty face, in a wholesome, blond, all-American way. She was a very decent-looking woman, and an extremely nice one, with a bright, lively, sharp mind and a good sense of humor. What more could a man want? He hoped the date worked out for her. Particularly since he had been happy for the last eight months with John Kelly, thanks to her. They were a perfect combination, and it had become a serious affair. They were starting to talk about moving in together. And they loved taking Victoria out to dinner with them. Harlan had become her best friend in New York, and her only real confidant other than her sister. And he gave excellent advice.
When Jack arrived promptly at seven o’clock on Saturday night, the apartment was empty. All the others were out for the evening, and he walked around the apartment, admiring how pleasant it was, and how spacious.
“Wow, I live in a shoebox compared to you,” he said enviously.
“It’s rent-controlled. I was lucky, and I live here with three other people. I found it as soon as I moved to New York.”
“You really lucked out.”
She offered him a glass of wine, and a few minutes later they left for dinner. They took the subway to the diner in the Village, and he said the play was starting at nine o’clock, so they had just enough time for dinner.
She had taken Harlan’s advice, and he had checked her over before he went out to meet John. She was wearing a short black skirt, a white T-shirt, and a denim jacket, with high-heeled sandals that showed off her legs. And she
