Chapter 15
Daydream
Six days later, they were standing outside the Belvedere Castle in Central Park, where Tristana was in a cover shoot with a young girl wearing what Peter thought was some rendition of Belle’s peasant costume in Beauty and the Beast. To his dismay, the rock band, Looking Backward, had not made an appearance.
“So, what are you going for with this?” Peter asked as he stood behind her, trying to look at the screen on her expensive camera to see what she had captured.
Tristana kept snapping away, moving incrementally to capture every possible angle, as she replied, “The album is supposed to be more instrumental, capturing bits and pieces of Claire’s operas, so I’m going with a fairy tale theme to fit her fairy tales.”
Peter nodded, never having seen nor heard any of Claire Gish’s operas, but knowing about them. Who hadn’t? “That makes sense.”
Tristana grinned at him before focusing back on her work.
Peter was bored out of his mind, yet he was fascinated by her enthusiasm and devotion to her work. He had never heard of her. Then again, he wasn’t really into the arts. In fact, he couldn’t name one modern day artist.
When Tristana was finally finished four hours later, she and Peter helped the set organizers pack away the lighting, backdrops, and costumes. There was also a camera crew there who had filmed Tristana as she worked and had interviewed her. That had made him uncomfortable.
When he had asked Tristana why they were there, she had informed him it was for some upcoming reality TV show that followed the makings of an album from composition to recording, album construction, tour planning, and everything in-between. The show would follow bands as they recorded to first interviews and ending at opening night of the tour’s kickoff.
As they got in a taxi to take them back to their hotel, Peter chuckled. “So, you’re gonna be on a reality TV show?”
Tristana laughed. “Maybe a twenty-second cameo. The show is still in production. Who knows if it will even air?”
Peter hummed.
“What?” Tristana asked.
Peter shrugged. “When we first met, you didn’t seem like the type to be okay in front of cameras like that. You just seemed like an introvert. But back there, you seemed to come alive. I can’t figure you out.”
It was Tristana’s turn to shrug. “Everyone has different sides to them.”
The taxi got quiet as they made their way through the city, Tristana staring out the window while Peter stared at her.
When they got to their hotel and were waiting for an elevator, Peter turned to her, taking in her messy ponytail and the dark shadows under her eyes. “You okay?”
Seeming startled, like he had abruptly pulled her from deep thoughts, she looked up at him. “Yeah, just exhausted.”
“You wanna skip dinner?” His hand twitched, wanting to swipe away the loose tendrils dancing along her cheek and trace the dark circles under her eyes.
She shook her head, turning back to the elevator as it opened and a family of four stepped out. “No. I’m really looking forward to it.” She stepped onto the elevator as Peter held the door open. “I want to enjoy my time here. I can sleep when we get back home.”
Peter didn’t say anything as he stepped on after her, followed by another couple. Everyone was quiet as the elevator doors glided closed and the box started its ascent.
Sighing, Peter glanced up. “Angels.”
Tristana glanced at Peter, seeing him looking up. She followed his eyes, seeing a mosaic of three angels looking down on them. “Cherubs. It’s always cherubs or archangels.”
When Peter didn’t say anything, she peeked over at him, seeing him looking at her with his brow arched.
“What?”
He faced forward again as the door opened to her floor. “Just a weird observation.” He gestured for her to exit. “I used to know someone who knew the difference between angels.”
“Me, too,” she said, stepping off the elevator.
“I’ll be at your door in thirty?” he asked as he watched her walk away, head down.
“Yeah,” she called back as the elevator doors shut.
~~~~~
The place Tristana had chosen for dinner was upscale. She had only been to New York one other time and had been too overwhelmed to experience it to the fullest. This time, she wanted to wine and dine and be able to look back on the trip, knowing it had been perfect.
New York was like a dream; all the organized chaos, people of all walks of life sharing the same love of a great city. She felt a camaraderie with the natives, smiling and easily chatting with anyone. It was like no other place she had ever been.
After showering and drying her hair, leaving her naturally wavy hair down, she stood in her underwear as she skillfully put on her makeup, going darker on the shades since it was almost night now. Then she slipped into the form-fitting black dress that reached her knees in a pencil skirt style. It seemed demure and almost business-like until she turned. Her entire back and half her sides were exposed. The front, top half veered inward, just holding her breasts in before the neckline, threaded through with a satin ribbon, tied around the back of her neck.
When Peter knocked on her door and she answered, they were both struck mute at the sight of each other.
Peter cleaned up well. Gone were his usual jeans and tee-shirts, and in their place were tailor-fitted clothes that looked all-too natural on him. His dress shirt was crisp and white. His black slacks and jacket were the blackest black. His black belt and shoes shined. He had even donned a black tie, though he wore it loosely like he had just walked out of the office. And his hair that had grown out from the military cut was styled in a clean, formal way.
“You clean up well,” she finally managed to say, still standing in the open doorway and barring his way in.
“Turn around,” was his reply, his focus on her hips.
She hesitated before complying. She hadn’t expected the tone in his voice or for those words to leave those lips that were so pronounced around the scruff on his face that he hadn’t shaved.
When she was facing him again, his eyes were still focused on her lower half. She cleared her throat.
His eyes snapped up to hers, not looking chastised at being caught checking her out one bit. Yeah, he was definitely not gay.
“Damn, woman. All I can say is damn …”
“You like?” she asked as she turned around and walked away from the door, finally allowing him in. It wasn’t an innocent act when she slowly bent over to retrieve her silver rhinestone clutch, moving her hair to the side so he had a full view of her back.
“Damn,” he repeated from the doorway, not having moved from his spot.
Tristana had no problem admitting she was disappointed. He never hid his attraction from her, yet he never acted on it either. It was starting to infuriate her. She had hoped this trip, being away from Ms. Diana’s house, would bring them closer, would encourage him to make a move.
Well, it was still early in the night. Maybe later.
Tucking the key card into her clutch, she looked inside, making sure she had everything she needed before grabbing a black leather jacket then making her way out the door.
As they walked silently down the hallway toward the elevator, she slipped the jacket on then felt Peter interlace his fingers with hers. Shocked, she glanced up at him. He, however, remained focused on the elevator as he pushed the button to retrieve it.
They were silent as they made their way down the elevator, a group of other people squeezed in with them, also looking like they were on their way out for a night on the town.
Tristana couldn’t help constantly glancing at Peter, who refused to look at her. He seemed determined not to, like he would cave if he did. She hoped he would.
Her feelings for him had grown beyond simple roommates. She yearned and desired for him like she never had for anyone else. She loved his quiet company or the playful side of him that she could bring out once in a while. She loved his smile and the dimples that grooved into his cheeks. She loved his focus on whatever he was doing, knowing that focus would fulfill a need in her if it was ever directed her way.
She tore her gaze off him when the elevator stopped, her thoughts making her blush.
They filed off the box, Peter leading her through the lobby and out to the street where they entered a taxi that was already parked in a long line of cars and other taxis.
Tristana gave the name of the restaurant to the driver, settling into the seat as Peter got in beside her. He didn’t hold her hand again as they drove through the city traffic.
When Tristana thought their night was going to remain as awkward as the silence encasing their cab, Peter turned toward her and asked, “What do you want to do tomorrow?”
Relieved, she started rambling about all the places she wanted to see, which would never fit in a day since they needed to be at the airport by seven p.m. for their flight back.
Their conversation lasted throughout the ride and into the restaurant where they had to wait five minutes for a table to clear for their reservation.
“I dare you to play twenty questions,” Peter announced, placing his menu down after spending a few minutes looking over it.
Tristana raised an eyebrow at him. “Fine, but I start.”
Peter tipped his head for her to continue.
“What are you ordering?”
Peter laughed. “Tenderloin. You?”
“Halibut.” The restaurant only let you pick the meat. Everything else was chosen for you in a nine-course meal that cost well over three hundred dollars. Tristana planned on savoring each and every bite, already imagining the flavors dancing on her taste buds as she let the bites melt on her tongue. She had only eaten a light breakfast of yogurt and granola, wanting her belly to be hollow for all the yumminess she planned on devouring.
She tapped her chin in thought, thinking of another question. “Um … Favorite food?”
“You sure are stuck on food right now.”
She grinned.
“I don’t have one,” he admitted.
“Me neither,” she responded then looked up in thought. “Uh … Favorite color?”
“Let’s skip the easy ones.” Peter sat up, his posture turning eager. “Who is Jared to you?”
Tristana fidgeted, also sitting up, but looking more defensive. “A friend.”
“And nothing romantic ever happened between you two?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Peter gave her an exasperated look.
She rolled her eyes. “No, nothing ever happened between us. He’s just a really good friend. A really, really good person who everyone should aspire to be like.” She picked up her glass and sipped the wine Peter had ordered, feeling her cheeks flush.
“How so?” Peter asked.
Ignoring him, she asked, “Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”
Peter narrowed his eyes, knowing she changed the subject on purpose. “Skip.”
Tristana narrowed hers back at him. “How many people have you slept with?”
“You do know I’m going volley that, so if I answer, then you have to, too.”
Tristana made a face. “Touché.”
“I guess we have reached an impasse.”
“Yeah, I dare you to never play that game again. You suck at it.” She rested her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair.
Peter shook his head. “No, that was you who refused to answer first.”
She stuck her tongue at him before picking up her glass again and chugging the wine back.
He chuckled, picking up his and taking a leisurely sip, as if proving he had more control of his emotions than her.
She placed her empty glass down and looked him over, studying him, his facial expression, his posture. “What are you doing here?”
Peter choked on his drink.
Point to Tristana.
“What do you mean? You invited me.”
They both knew her tone had implied more than just here, in New York City.
She pursed her lips. “Why did you accept?”
He shrugged, not making eye contact. “I wanted to meet Noah Gish.”
Tristana was looking off, not really seeing anything, rolling her bottom lip between her thumb and middle finger. “Is that it?”
“You know it’s not.” He wouldn’t say it.
They both remained silent, yet Peter’s eyes were screaming too many words. She thought she was starting to figure out his motives. However, she was too scared to address them. She needed more time.
Taking the chicken way out, she changed the subject. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”
Their first course arrived as Peter stared at her, contemplating if he should blurt out his motives, or accept the change in subject. Like Tristana, he took the chicken way out.
~~~~~
Back at the hotel, wine having loosened his inhibitions, Peter grabbed her arm before she could step onto the elevator. Confused, Tristana could only follow him as he led her halfway down a hall.
When he came to a stop, the way he stared at her had her taking a step toward him, thinking he was about to kiss her. Then his words stopped her.
“I came to New York with you for many reasons. One, I did want to meet the band.” His eyes seemed to grin before he got serious. “I didn’t like the thought of you going alone. I wanted to see you at work. I had never been to New York.” He shrugged unapologetically. “I didn’t want you to go alone.”
“You already said that.” Her heart was beating faster, her breath catching. Hope warmed up her chest that he was about to confess.
He nodded, repeating, “I didn’t want you to go alone … And I wanted the time away from the house and our routines to get to know you.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face to behind her ear. “And I didn’t want you to go alone.”
She smiled softly, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. “Thank you.”
He nodded then stepped away, as if physically needing to distance himself before he did something he would regret.
Tristana’s heart broke. Why wouldn’t he act on his feelings?