Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (20)

 

Charlie Wu’s restaurant was a large, dark cave of crimson and black lacquer slashed with gold. Banquettes were black leather, deep, soft and spacious, and the thick carpeting was, like the walls, a seductively dark crimson. And here, like the Green Parrot, there was again the magic of producing bright light and a dark ambience.

How do they do that? she wondered.

They followed the maître d’ to their table in a dark corner, almost hidden behind a large planter full of ceiling-high live bamboo.

“I asked for a little privacy when I made the reservation.”

“It’s beautiful.” Annie looked around her as she slid into the seat curved into the wall. “Like a stage set.”

“And it’s quiet, too. All carpeted and no music, so we can hear ourselves talk. I didn’t want to be in one of those state-of-the-art places, all glass and noise and everyone screaming to be heard. And I wanted you to have the best Chinese meal in New York. I bet outside of San Francisco and—well, China—this is the best Chinese food you can get.”

She took the menu the waiter handed her and started to scan it.

“I’d read that the best Chinese food in New York is in Chinatown.”

“Mostly, that’s true, though you can get great Chinese food all around town. But this is Charlie’s second location. He already has a restaurant way downtown, near Grand Street. It just did so well, people got him to open another Charlie Wu’s up here, in Midtown. Lots of folks from the UN come in here, just a couple of blocks away. Charlie’s made it a fully Asian menu; he serves dishes from Thailand, and Vietnam, even Mongolia. Look around. You can see, not just for Chinese folks. Customers from everywhere. This place brings people together. Like a UN annex.”

“I can see why. This menu looks great.”

But Bart took the menu from her and handed it to the waiter.

“I already ordered ahead for us,” he told the waiter. “And we’d like a bottle of the Riesling,” he added, pointing on the wine list to a good spätlese with a name rich in umlauts and too German for him to try to pronounce.

To Annie, he said, “You have to have the scallops. They do them in a sauce,” he shook his head, “no words for it—”

“You already—?”

“And some dim sum, too. My favorite—”

“Bart, you didn’t need to—”

“But we’ll start with the ribs.”

“Bart!—”

“—and I’m going to teach you how to eat with chopsticks.”

This was too much!

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Bart! You are really too much! Can you possibly understand? I don’t need you to order for me. And I already know how to eat with chopsticks.”

That brought him up short. He looked disappointed and the word “crestfallen” went through Annie’s head.

“Well, how would I know that?” he said.

“Everyone knows how to eat with chopsticks. Even in Wyoming! After all, Bart, there really are Chinese restaurants beyond the Hudson River.”

“Well, not good ones. Not like here in the city.”

She was getting irritated. This man definitely needed to be reined in.

“Well, I would invite you to come to Laramie and come with me to Tommy Yao’s place.”

“Chinese?”

“Yes. Chinese. And not only authentic Chinese, but also authentic, old-time Wyoming, as well.” She poured a little tea into Bart’s cup. “Let me tell you about Tommy Yao.” She filled her own cup.

“Tommy’s family goes back a long way. Maybe a hundred fifty years, to the 1800s. Back to the days when Chinese laborers were building the railroads through the west. They had food cars especially for the Chinese workers—dried abalone and oysters and rice and specially imported tea—and they paid the Chinese cooks extra to cook for the Chinese workers. One of them was one of Tommy’s ancestors. And after the railroad workers moved on, he stayed on and his little chuck wagon became a little restaurant, right near the train station. And it’s still there, only it’s not a little place anymore; it’s a very good and well-established enterprise. And ever since then, the Yao family has been bringing their relatives over from China. The Yao family are magicians in the kitchen. What’s more, Tommy does wonderful things with game. The local hunters around Laramie bring Tommy their venison and pheasant and their chukar partridge. Bear, even, and elk, and he cooks it up for them. Have you ever had a good bear stew? It’s fabulous!”

She’d been waving her napkin around as she talked as she had warmed to her subject, which was, let’s face it, to put Bart Hardin in his place, with his notion that nothing west of his precious New York is worth knowing. She was really revved up and now she slapped the napkin down on the table.

“So just don’t tell me about chopsticks!”

There was silence at the table now. Annie stared into her plate, a little embarrassed by her outburst. And Bart just sat immobile, taking it all in.

Finally, he spoke.

“I guess I was kind of out of line there. I just figured—”

“I know what you figured,” she said, a little petulantly.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.” They sat silently for a bit.

He drank off his cup of tea. She filled it up again.

And then the ribs arrived.

And, as no one can be angry with a plate of ribs in front of them, they each relaxed a little, and they each smiled a little—

“Friends?” he said.

“Of course.” She started in on the ribs. “But you have to stop being such a horse’s ass.”

“I’m not a horse’s ass!”

“You are, too.” She licked the sauce from her fingers. “Sometimes.”

They ate in silence. Bart thought things over. And she wondered if she’d gone too far.

When the ribs were done, the apprentice waiter arrived with a tiny tray of hot, moist terry cloths, which he handed to them, one by one, with small tongs. They cleaned up, they handed the little towels back, and he disappeared. The next course hadn’t arrived yet.

“Annie?”

He was looking at her so seriously.

She tilted her head, attentive.

“Annie, I don’t want to be a horse’s ass with you.”

She felt a thump in her heart, touched by this sudden exposure of his very honest vulnerability, and she had to take a couple of breaths. She was glad that their dinner arrived just then, because she needed a little diversion.

And what a diversion it was. There were sea scallops served in their own shells, and a chicken soong. A plate of dumplings, light and savory. And a platter of dried, steamed green beans, bright and aromatic. With her chopsticks, she lifted a scallop from its shell where it seemed to float in a light-as-air creamy sauce. One taste and she thought it must have been whipped up by culinary wizards.

“These are wonderful,” she said.

“I knew you’d like them,” he said. He beamed as though he’d prepared them himself. “And how about that soong dish? You’ve got to try that.” The bowl of finely diced vegetables and chicken between them was surrounded by a fan of a romaine lettuce leaves, fresh and crisp and just waiting to be filled with the chopped mix.

The exotic food, the perfect service, and the elegant ambience cast a seductive spell over them, and by the time they were ready to leave, there was no longer a shred of tension between them.

It must have rained a little while they were having dinner; it seemed everything had been washed clean and the light mist that hung in the air seemed scented with flowers. The rain had stopped but the pavements were still wet; vehicles made a soft swishing sound, like brushstrokes on a snare drum, and the street was all activity, people coming and going all around them, the nighttime traffic different from the daytime, a rush of taxis, black town cars everywhere, no delivery trucks, and the dark obliterated by the illuminated storefronts, the street lamps above, and the light from thousands of windows looking down at them. If the skies had cleared and if there were stars above, it would not have been possible to see them, and if, by chance, the moon should ride by, high above the skyscrapers, it would have been indistinguishable from the surrounding multitude of lights that made daytime of all hours in this city that never sleeps.

Bart took Annie’s hand and, in the manner of an old-fashioned gentleman, slipped it through his arm so that, with her hand on his arm, he was truly escorting her, in a formal manner, through the lively clatter and bustle, back to her hotel. The Riesling had left her with a little buzz, the pavement was a bit uneven, and she seldom wore really high heels, so she was glad of his steadying presence, glad to rely on him to get her safely back home. Glad to relax and allow herself to be unaware of her surroundings, to let Bart guide her. No surprise then, that she didn’t notice that Bart was alert to something—to an unnameable something that his instinct told him to pay attention to—that same instinct that had alerted him in the park, when he knew they were being watched, that something in his environment was not right.

Careful not to alarm her, Bart checked his surroundings, checked the throngs of people moving around them, the dog walkers, the doormen, ordinary pedestrians on their way here and there, folks getting into and out of taxis, diners eating at outdoor tables, but he couldn’t find the source of his concern. They arrived at her hotel with no danger surfacing, and he allowed himself to let his guard down.

He brought her into the lobby and it was time to say good night. Time, perhaps, for a good night kiss? But in such a public place, right there, in the midst of strangers?

They were both quiet. The unasked questions lay between them. Bart said nothing, waiting, as though trying to read her mind. Waiting until she did make up her mind.

“If you’d like to come up—”

No more words were needed between them.

They rode up silently in the elevator. People got on. People got off. Annie saw their reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall. Bart was watching her intently, as though he was memorizing every feature, every curve and plane of her face, every wave of her hair.

In the room, she turned on a light. She slipped off her light jacket. She turned toward him, and he was waiting for her. She moved right into his arms. His hand was in her hair, and she felt his intake of breath, as though his pleasure was too much. She glanced toward the door.

“My sister—”she whispered.

“It’s only nine. The show won’t end for another hour.” His hand stroked through her hair. He held her still closer. “They’ll go out for a drink after. We have time—”

And now, in the quiet, he kissed her. And yes, they had time. He kissed her again. She felt his heart beating. She felt her own heart beating.

Annie knew. This man was different. There’d never been this sense of comfort and completeness, this sense of safety.

He held her a little bit away from him, as though he wanted to study her.

“We have time,” he repeated. “And I’ve got to catch my breath.” He shook his head, as though to clear it. “You take my breath away.”

Annie laughed. “That’s supposed to be the girl’s line.”

“Whatever.”

She was glad he wasn’t rushing things.

“How about a drink,” she said. “There’s a mini bar—” She pointed toward it.

“Good idea.”

He went with her.

“There’s vodka,” she said. “And some juice.”

“That’ll do it.”

Together, they took out a couple of mini bottles and mixed a couple of drinks.

“And pretzels?” she asked.

He nodded. He loosened his tie. He took off his jacket and dropped it on a chair. He took the glasses from her hand and put them on the coffee table. “Come here,” he whispered. He led her to the sofa. Again, he pulled her gently into his arms.

“You do, Annie. You take my breath away.”

In the light from the entryway—the only light there was—his eyes were darker, his face was shadowed and so serious. As he drew her closer still, she forgot all those others, from another time in her life, and she forgot why she was here, and what she’d been doing these last days, and—

—and just then, in that very moment, Bart’s cell phone rang.

“God dammit!”

His jacket was across the room, on the chair where he dropped it. He left Annie, who was suddenly thrown back into reality, abruptly trying to remember where she was.

Bart crossed the room, in a fury, and he fished the damned phone out of his jacket pocket. He looked at the screen.

“I have to take this.”

He glared at the phone’s screen.

“Hardin here.”

She saw his eyes widen, all focused attention now. His face turned grim.

“I’m on my way!” And to Annie, almost as though she’d disappeared from his world, he said, “I have to go.”

Reflexively, he pulled on his jacket. And without another word, he was up and gone and she was alone. Staring at the door—which he had not fully closed. Thoughtfully, she got up, went to the door. Closed it.

 

“So what happened?” Liz said. “He just suddenly left? Without a word, not even a good-bye?”

“Exactly. Not even a word.”

“Do you know who called?”

“I just saw his face go all fierce and he said, ‘I’m on my way,’ like it was obviously some sort of emergency, and then he said, ‘I have to go,’ and he was out of here like a shot. Didn’t even close the door.”

“Well, at least you know it wasn’t anything you did.”

“Of course not. We were getting along just fine.” She paused and her expression turned sort of dreamy. “Just fine—”

“Oh?” Liz’s expression said it all. “I’ll just bet you were.”

Annie chose to change the subject quickly.

“So how was the show?”

Liz let Annie off the hook. She knew she’d get the whole story eventually.

“The show was wonderful,” she said. “Great music, great dancing. And hilariously funny. The whole audience was screaming with laughter. I see what they mean about a Broadway musical. Such incredible talent. It surely is not the Laramie High School drama club.”

“Oh, Liz, not you, too. If I hear one more word about how wonderful this city is, I’m going to chuck everything and get the next plane out of here.”

Liz was unimpressed by Annie’s outburst. She took a handful of pretzels.

“You can’t. You signed a contract.”

“I know. I know. But honestly. I’m just so tired of the way this city toots its own horn.”

“I thought you were having a good time.”

“I’m having a wonderful time. And everyone’s been very nice to me. But dammit, this city is not the center of the whole universe.”

‘Well, something’s bugging you. Did that cop do something to upset you?”

“No, Liz. He really didn’t. Not at all.” Her eyes went dreamy. “Not at all,” she repeated softly.

Liz gave her sister one sharp look.

“Hmm,” she said. She took another couple of pretzels. “Well, I’m going to bed. This has been a full day.”