“Um . . .”
“A friend of mine plays the saxophone with a quartet, and they have a gig tonight at a coffeehouse in SoHo. I’m going to see them. Would you like to come?”
I thought of Melanie and wondered if she was waiting by the phone or listening for my car in the back parking lot. But the notion of spending a few more hours with Olivia Hamilton was impossible to resist, so I said yes.
After the table was cleared, Mr. Hamilton offered to bring out a bottle of a fifty-year-old Madeira port, but Olivia said, “If you don’t mind, Daddy, I’d like to take Dean to see Gabriel play saxophone tonight. Would that be okay?”
Mr. Hamilton sat back in his chair. “I wish I had the energy to keep up with you young people. I’d go along if I could, but I need my beauty sleep. Off you go, then. Have a good time.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She rose from her chair, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned to me. “I’ll just be a few minutes. I have to change.”
I couldn’t help but notice that rich people changed their clothes a lot.
When the bottle of port arrived, I politely declined but enjoyed an interesting and deep discussion with Mr. Hamilton about the psychological effects of grief. He asked me all sorts of questions relating to his late mother, who had been unhappy for years after the death of his father in 1961. I was conscious of Caroline listening discreetly from the far end of the table.
When Olivia entered the room, my heart stopped yet again at the sight of her in a black turtleneck, large hoop earrings, and a long black pencil skirt with flat shoes.
“Are you ready?” she asked as she tucked a leather clutch purse under her arm.
I rose to my feet, thanked Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton for the wonderful meal, and followed her to the door. Olivia and I were just donning our coats when Mrs. Hamilton hurried toward us, her heels clicking noisily across the expansive entrance hall.
“Dean . . . before you go . . . if you’re free on Sunday, we’d love for you to join us on the yacht. We’re heading out around noon. We’ve invited Caroline and her husband as well.”
Slightly flustered, because Melanie had made plans for us to drive to Long Island on Sunday, I turned to Olivia, who was tying the belt on her cashmere coat. “Will you be going?” I asked, not forgetting that she had a documentary film to edit.
“I’ll go if you go,” she replied.
How could I possibly refuse? Caroline would be displeased if I declined the invitation. She would want to know why, and what would I say?
“I’d be delighted,” I said to Mrs. Hamilton, who furnished me with the details.
A moment later, Olivia and I stepped off the elevator on the ground floor and made our way across the luxurious lobby, where the doorman was quick to escort us to a shiny black Rolls-Royce at the curb.
I had expected that we would hail a cab, and I’d worried briefly about how much cash I had in my wallet after the purchase of the suit earlier that evening, but clearly there would be no charge for this. We climbed into the back seat, and while Olivia greeted the chauffeur in a friendly, familiar manner, I tried not to appear too wonder struck, because this was not a world I knew. I felt completely out of my depth.
I barely knew this woman, and she was not from my world, but for some inexplicable reason, I felt a connection to Olivia that was mind boggling and far more powerful than my ability to resist it. There were moments when we sat together in the dimly lit coffeehouse, listening to the jazz quartet and chatting quietly between sets, when I felt as if nothing existed in the world outside of our intimate conversations. It was just the two of us, leaning close.
During a break in the music, I met her friend Gabriel and the other members of the quartet. Later, when the lights came on and the coffeehouse was about to close, Gabriel invited us to a party somewhere nearby, but Olivia declined and said that she had to pull an all-nighter and get back to her film editing.
As soon as Gabriel was gone, I paid our bill with my nearly maxed-out credit card. “I hope I didn’t keep you from your work tonight,” I said. “I feel like a bad influence.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “And it’s not even true that I have to pull an all-nighter. I just didn’t want to go to that party, and it was the only excuse I could think of.”
I helped her with her coat, and then she asked to use the telephone to call for the car. After she hung up, she turned to me. “How are you getting home? Benjamin could drive you, if you like.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I quickly replied as we walked outside. “My car is parked a few blocks from your parents’ place.”
We stood on the sidewalk talking until Benjamin pulled up. When we climbed into the back seat, we both grew quiet. It was late, and I sensed that Olivia was tired, or perhaps it was something else.
At last, she turned to me. “I should probably tell you that Gabriel is my ex.”
My eyebrows lifted, and I felt a small pang of jealousy. “Oh. I didn’t realize . . .”
“No, of course you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have taken you there. I don’t know why I did. It wasn’t because I wanted to make him jealous or anything. I wasn’t trying to play games to get him back. It was quite the opposite, actually.”
“What do you mean?” My heart began to race.
Olivia reached for my hand and held it, and her touch sent an electric current through me. “I wanted him to know that it was over between us and there’s no hope and that he should move on. It’s difficult when we’re still friends and we run in the same group. But that sounds like I was using you for something, and that’s not the case either.”
I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was sit and watch her in the darkness of the car with only brief flashes of city lights to illuminate her lovely face.
“I don’t want to presume anything,” I finally said. “But I’m not sure what’s going on here.”
“Really?” She laughed a little and seemed charmingly vulnerable to me. “I feel like you must. I’ve been so painfully obvious, forgetting the release form after the interview, then getting my parents to invite you to dinner tonight. You look surprised. Now I feel foolish.”
“Don’t feel foolish,” I said, secretly delighted. More than delighted. I was over the moon. “When you were late, I thought you weren’t coming. Then, when you walked into the room, I was so happy to see you.”
I heard her breath catch in her throat. We drove under a streetlight, and her face lit up with a smile. She leaned close and touched her lips to mine. They were soft and warm, and she tasted like sweet cream and caramel. I cupped her chin in my hand, and we kissed briefly as the car pulled to a halt in front of her building.
I felt dazed as we slid apart. The doorman appeared at the window and opened the door for Olivia.
“Good evening, Ms. Hamilton,” he said. “Dr. Robinson.”
We both got out and stood for a moment on the sidewalk grinning at each other until the doorman recognized that his services were no longer required. He tactfully disappeared inside, and the Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb.
“I’ll see you Sunday,” she said and gave me further instructions on how to find the yacht at the marina. Then she kissed me on the cheek and walked into the building.