Chapter 14
“That’s the woman . . . the black-haired witch at that dump of a restaurant!” Lara Jensen cried. She sprang off the leather couch at Lori Atkins’s apartment, her face flushed with anger and her hands balled into fists. “I’d like to find out who she is, so I can wring her neck.”
The four women who’d attended Andrea’s wedding shower—Lara, Amy, Diane, and Lori—were in Lori’s living room, watching a sports program on television with their partners, when a commercial sponsored by the East Village Brewery Company appeared.
“Hey, take it easy.” Evan Wilde, Lara’s new boyfriend, put a hand on her arm. “Why bother with someone like that? She’s not important.”
“He’s right,” Diane chimed in. “Don’t get upset over a common belly dancer.” To herself she thought, So that’s the woman Jordan’s involved with. Pretty hot-looking.
Greg Atkins stood and surveyed the scene. Trays of cheese, crackers, fruit, and nuts were scattered on the large coffee table in front of the couch, along with bottles of beer and glasses of wine. “Anyone ready for dinner?” He was eager to avoid a dramatic confrontation with Jordan’s ex-girlfriend.
Carl Bonefrede, Diane’s partner, called out, “I’m game. Where are we headed? I wouldn’t mind a good seafood place. I’m in the mood for lobster.”
“Great idea,” Vance Brown agreed. He glanced at Amy. “You in the mood for seafood?”
“Sounds good to me,” she replied.
“Let’s do it.” Greg turned to his wife, Lori. “We could head over to the west side of town. The Captain’s Galley was marvelous last time we tried it.”
Lara was still fuming. She paced up and down in front of the television set. “How can I find out who she is? If I have to, I’ll hire a private investigator.”
Shaking his head, Evan looked grim. “Lara, stop it. You’re making a fool of yourself over someone who isn’t the least bit relevant. If you have a gripe, take it out on Jordan. He’s the one who behaved badly.”
“Absolutely,” Greg agreed. “C’mon, let’s head out. I’m starving.”
~ ~ ~
The bartender at the Blue Monkey was serving customers on Sunday afternoon when he saw the television ad for the East Village Brewery Company. “Hey, look at that!” he exclaimed, staring at the screen. “It’s Sam, our belly dancer. I’ll have to tell Sean. She’s famous now. Who’d have thought she’d end up on television?” He shook his head in amazement.
One of the waiters picking up drinks heard him. “I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. He’s pissed about that newspaper story. It wasn’t her fault those two guys were fighting over her. I saw the whole thing.”
Beth Fuller was seating patrons when she passed the bar and caught a glimpse of the brewery television ad. She stopped short, her eyes narrowed, as she watched the performance. Grim-faced, she finished seating the customers and went in search of Sean.
“I couldn’t believe it,” she said to him. “Sam’s really cashing in on that newspaper notoriety. She’s on television doing a belly dance for the East Village Brewery people. I wonder what they’re paying her. Boy, I never thought she’d stoop that low.” A disdainful look crossed her face.
Sean’s expression was taut. “I don’t know what we can do, except try to track down the guy who flipped Brice. I’m ready to get a lawyer once we find the jerk.”
“Sam knows darn well who the guy is, but she won’t tell us,” Beth declared. “I can’t believe she’d do this after all the years we’ve been together. I guess you can’t count on loyalty anymore.”
~ ~ ~
“This is cozy!” Sam exclaimed as she and Jordan entered Balzanos, the small Italian restaurant located on a side street in mid-Manhattan. The walls were dark paneled wood. Brightly colored oil paintings of Italian scenes gave the place a cheerful air. A row of booths and tables was on one side of the restaurant, while an ivy-covered lattice divider hid an area with a bar and smaller tables. The eatery wasn’t crowded, even at almost six in the evening, which was definitely a plus, Sam observed.
She’d spent a delightful afternoon with Jordan rambling around Central Park, visiting the small zoo, and taking a rowboat out to cruise the lake. Several times, she’d been tempted to tell Jordan about the tai chi class and how she ended up crossing it off her exercise program. But she couldn’t bring up an unpleasant episode like that when she was having such a great experience. She’d have to confess one of these days, if only to clear the air. But not now.
“I’ll bet you expected something fancier,” Jordan said as they followed the hostess to a table.
“Well, I wasn’t sure,” she hedged, slipping into the leather-covered booth.
He took a seat opposite her. “If the food’s good and the service is adequate, the décor isn’t important. Of course, the restaurant has to be clean. I’ve eaten here many times, and it’s never disappointed me. A good friend of mine owns the place. He’s also the chef, so it may be a while before he comes out to say hello.”
The hostess gave them menus and returned in a few moments with water and a basket of crusty bread, saying “Your waiter will be right with you.”
Sam opened the menu and scanned the entrees. “What do you recommend?” she asked.
“Let’s see. I’ve had some of their veal dishes, which are wonderful. The clam sauce is exceptional, too. What’re you in the mood for?” His hand lightly caressed hers. “I know what I’d like right about now.”
She noted the sensual glint in his eyes and couldn’t help the tingle of awareness that shot through her. “Is that so?”
“Guess I’ll have to wait till I get you home.”
“Who says I’ll invite you in?” she teased.
He feigned a hurt look. “Not even for ice cream?”
“Look what happened the last two times I invited you in for ice cream. We never got to eat those sundaes. They’re still in the freezer.”
“One more reason to invite me in tonight, if only to dispose of them.”
She threw him a quizzical glance. “I don’t know why, but somehow I don’t believe you.”
He gave a shout of laughter. “You’re catching on much too fast,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Sam enjoyed the banter between them. They’d spent a relaxing afternoon exploring the nooks and crannies of Central Park. She found out he loved the outdoors, and as she surmised, he was a fitness freak. He was also comfortable to be with, always looking out for her wellbeing when they traversed rocky trails or maneuvered the small boat around the lake. He liked to put his arm around her shoulders or occasionally hug her. She could get used to this–big time.
Sam and Jordan shared several Italian specialties, including veal scaloppini, pasta with clam sauce, and a large salad. He ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir to accompany the meal. His friend Nick, the owner, came out to greet them and brought along the wine.
“Jordan, this is a real pleasure. Haven’t seen you in a few months.”
Nick was a good-looking young man in his early thirties with a thick head of dark hair and keen blue eyes. Those eyes appraised Sam for several long moments. “I see you’ve brought someone new along.”
“Sam, this is Nick Balzano, one of the best Italian chefs you’ll ever meet. How is your lovely wife and the new baby?”
“The baby’s almost three and he’s already heading to nursery school. Can you believe it?” Nick shook his head in wonder. “Seems like yesterday I was giving out cigars on the day he was born. We’re getting ready for another one in the fall.”
“Congratulations,” Jordan said. Nick was half a dozen years younger and was already a settled family man. Jordan couldn’t imagine himself in that role. “By the way, this is Samantha Peabody. She’s an artist and a terrific dancer.”
“Nice to meet you.” Nick held out his hand.
Sam noted the firm handshake and pleased expression. Had Jordan brought his former girlfriend here? If so, Nick hadn’t inquired about her.
“Tell Jordan to bring you around to the house for brunch one of these upcoming Sundays. I don’t have to be at the restaurant until three, so we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted. My wife, Adrienne, would love to meet you. She’s always dabbling in some kind of arts and crafts stuff. You’ll have a lot in common.” Nick said a quick goodbye and headed back to the kitchen.
Jordan could tell Nick was taken with Sam. Who wouldn’t be, he thought, appraising her sexy figure, creamy skin, and dark eyes. The simple brown jersey and slim-fitting jeans she wore emphasized her best features, too. “Would you like to visit Nick and Adrienne some Sunday morning—that is, when I actually let you out of bed?”
She giggled at his words. “It all depends,” she murmured, blushing. The image of being held hostage was titillating.
“Then again, maybe it’s not such a good idea. We could plan a daytime visit on a Monday when Nick takes the day off.” He poured a glass of wine for her and one for himself.
“I can indulge since I don’t have to get up early tomorrow.” She sipped her wine. “How about you? Do you have to get up at the crack of dawn?”
He took a taste of his wine. “It all depends.”
“On what?”
“I usually work out at the gym Monday mornings, but I could skip that routine.”
She took in his roguish look and almost knew what he was thinking. Did she want him to stay over? She’d planned a day of painting in her studio, but she could put that off. “Why don’t we see what happens after those sundaes. You might miss your own comfortable bed instead of sharing one with me.”
“Not on your life.”
The waiter came by with a dessert menu. “We have several special desserts for tonight,” he began.
“Not for me,” Sam said firmly.
“I’ll have a cup of black coffee. No dessert. The meal was great. Please give my compliments to Nick.”
Jordan lounged back with a contented sigh. “This has been an exceptional Sunday. Good food, good company, and lots of fresh air.” He could get used to this.
While he was enjoying his coffee, Jordan heard the strains of familiar music coming from the other side of the ivy-covered trellis. “That sounds like the music you did your belly dance routine to.” He rose to investigate and saw three large television screens hung over the bar showing Sam’s performance for the East Village Brewery Company ad. The bartender and several of the customers were ogling the screens. “Sam, you have to see this.”
Curious, she walked over to join him. Omigod. It was a shock to see that belly dance routine in full color on three enormous television screens. Why had she agreed to such a public display? And how many people would realize the identity of the dancer? Before she could answer those inward questions, Jordan put his arm around her.
“That is one sexy dancer up there,” he said in a husky tone. “And I’m the lucky guy going home with her tonight.”
~ ~ ~
“You’re very quiet,” Jordan said to Sam. They were driving back to her home after dinner. “Is anything wrong?”
“It was very strange seeing that ad on those large screens. I couldn’t connect the person dancing with me. I mean, I know I did the belly dancing, and they filmed the video in the gallery the other night. But it seems unreal somehow.”
“I can guarantee it’s you. But I can understand your feelings. If they filmed me during a court appearance I’d probably feel weird seeing it later. Don’t worry, it’ll probably never happen again. In a few weeks you’ll have forgotten the whole thing.” He put his hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze.
Jordan’s words and touch were comforting. She began to relax. “Perhaps you’re right. I hope no one except you and Peter ever knows I’m the one performing in that television ad.”
“Ah, so that’s what’s bothering you, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if people who frequent the Blue Monkey notice the resemblance. After all, you did perform there and look very much like the dancer in that ad. But why should that matter? You’ll have celebrity status for a short time and then your five minutes in the sun will be over. Believe me, those things don’t last.”
“I hope you’re right. I never understood ’til now how difficult it must be for a person to be famous and have everyone recognize you. You lose your privacy and can’t live your life without a camera aimed at your every move.” She shuddered at the thought.
“I wouldn’t give it much concern. You’re hardly in the same league as a movie star. Although, in my book, you look as good as any of those glamorous gals.”
He pulled up to her home and shut the ignition. “Well, are you inviting me in?”
Leaning toward her, his hand gently shifted her head to face him. “I’m in the mood for one of those ice cream dishes, but I won’t impose on your hospitality. It’s up to you.”
How could she refuse? Besides, she didn’t want to be alone tonight with all those disturbing thoughts still whirling about in her head. She placed a kiss on his firm mouth and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “I wouldn’t mind company tonight.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
He cradled her face between his large hands and gave her the kind of kiss that brushed away all those disagreeable reflections. She was beginning to depend on him in ways that could be dangerous to her independence. But she could call it to a halt whenever she chose. Couldn’t she?