"Never address the hosts by their first name, call them -,"
"Just tell me their goddamn names!" Tate snapped. The woman began flipping through pages on a clipboard.
"Wenseworth Dunn and ..., hmmm, let me see," she kept flipping. It took forever. "Ah! Kraven. Jameson Kraven."
Jameson Kraven. Not Kane. Still, what are the chances!?
Tate didn't have time to ponder it – another coordinator rushed in and clapped them all to attention. They were handed trays and sent out in to the fray. Tate balanced a platter of crab cakes on her palm and made her way in to the crowd of suits and cocktail dresses.
She didn't want to see him, but her eyes kept searching for him. She hadn't thought about Jameson much during all the time that had passed since that crazy night; except for when she was alone in bed. Or the shower. Sometimes on the couch.
But other than that, he had been absent from her mind. He had scarred her to a certain extent. For a little while, right after, her silly heart had hoped and prayed he would get in touch with her. "I will if I want to," he had said about seeing her. Very soon, it became apparent that he didn't want to – he never contacted her. Then her life had gotten so crazy, Tate hadn't had time to dwell on him, she was too concerned with figuring out where her next meal would come from, or how she was going to pay her rent, to care about Jameson Kane. He hadn't ever really been anything to her. Just a moment in time, that had happened to change her life forever.
She served crab cakes and shrimp balls, delivered drinks and took empty glasses. She smiled and flirted, encouraged everyone to drink more, and assured them that everything tasted amazing. She knew she didn't look as polished as most of the other waiters, but sometimes that worked to her advantage, especially with uptight suit types. They saw her nighttime makeup and mussy hair, and tended to think naughty thoughts. Naughty thoughts equalled bigger tips – and in this case, where the tips were pooled together, it meant more for everyone. So she worked it.
After the toast – which she made sure to miss – the place started to thin out. No one was eating anymore, and they were encouraged to not serve anymore alcohol. She had busied herself with clearing off tables, starting in the back corner, when she heard a noise behind her.
"It is you, right?" he asked. Tate sighed and stood upright.
"I was wondering that myself," she replied, slow to turn around. Jameson was smiling at her.
"God, you look so different, I didn't even recognize you at first. How long has it been? Six years?" he asked.
"More like seven. What's with the Kraven?" she asked, holding up a champagne glass with the etching facing him. He chuckled.
"Mother's maiden name – Jameson Kraven Kane. Has a nice ring," he explained.
"Makes sense."
"Are you a waitress?" he asked. Tate laughed.
"Like I said, I just wear aprons for fun," she responded. He made her uncomfortable. Tatum didn't get uncomfortable anymore, so it was a foreign feeling.
"Cute. So do you just work catering gigs?"
"Among other things."
"Like what?'
"I'm a bartender on the weekends. Temp a lot. Walk dogs. Taught yoga at a retirement home the other day. Do bicycle tours, walking tours, riverboat tours -," she started to list off when he held up a hand.
"Tours. I get it. I thought you were going to Harvard. You were gonna change the world, or something," he remembered. She laughed again.
"Once upon a time. But then I had this epiphany – I fucking hated school. I hated my life. I hated my parents. They pretty much hated me, so it worked out great. I left school and got a job," she recapped her life.
"Why do they hate you?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.
"One guess, Mr. Kane."
"No shit," Jameson said in a low voice, looking down his nose at her.
"Yup. Eloise was never one to take things lying down. Though you would know more about that than me," Tate teased. His eyebrows went up even higher.
"You are so ..., different," he told her, his voice soft.
"Well, you never really knew me," she pointed out.
"I think I got to know you pretty well."
She sucked in a quick breath and held it. It got about ten degrees hotter in the room. Tatum was no blushing girl, not anymore – she had broken up with Drew that same night, and since then she had slept with a lot of guys. Probably more than she'd like to admit. She wasn't shy about sex. But something about him, made her feel that way. She didn't like it. She had to regain the upper hand. She stepped up close to him, almost close enough for their chests to meet.
"It was one night, Jameson. You don't know anything," she whispered the last part, staring up at him.
Before he could respond, she turned and walked away. She halfway expected him to follow her, but he didn't. When she got back in to the kitchen, she peered out the porthole in the door. He was still standing there, staring after her. She smiled to herself.
Upper hand, achieved.
She didn't know why she felt the need to "beat him"; she didn't matter to him. He didn't matter to her. One fucked up, incredibly hot night together didn't mean anything, in the grand scheme of things. He had done her a favor, if she was honest with herself, and he had seemed to enjoy himself in the process, so it all worked out.
Closure. It was closure, Tate figured, for a chapter in her life she hadn't even known needed closure. Jameson Kane was most definitely a thing of the past. For real, now.
~2~
"How could you not recognize him!?"
Tate bent at the waist, swung her hips in a circle, clapped her hands, and then stood upright.
"I don't know, I was caught off guard! I didn't recognize him."
Bend, circle, clap, stand.
"He must look really different."
Bend, circle, clap, stand.
"Not really. Older, for sure, but still the same. Sexy as fuck."
Bend, circle, clap, stand.
"Then how did you not recognize him!? I find it hard to believe you forgot the face of the guy who fucked you retarded and then treated you like shit."
"Excuse me!"
Both Tate and her best friend, Angier Hollingsworth, looked over their shoulders at the woman who had just interrupted them. Okay, so maybe a Zumba class wasn't the best place to be having that particular discussion, but Tate hadn't started it. Plus, she thought eavesdropping was a nasty trait – if people were going to do it, they should have the good graces to pretend not to be listening and keep their mouth shut.
"Oh, shut up, this is probably the hottest thing you've heard all week," Ang snapped at the woman before he turned back towards the instructor. They began hiking their knees up, skipping in place at the same time as pumping their fists in the air.
Zumba wasn't Tate's usual work out, but free was free, and she couldn't exactly afford a gym membership. Ang was a compulsive coupon hoarder, and always took her when he got a buy-one-get-one deal. She had been to many a jazzercise, step, Tae Bo, cycling class, courtesy of Ang. They also always knew where to go to score free smoothies, appetizers, cookies, whatever. When they really put their minds to it, the two of them could spend a whole day on the town and not spend a dime.
"I don't think about him that much. I guess I kinda forgot," Tate kept their conversation going, body rolling to the right.
"So he's still sexy, huh? Gonna hit that?" Ang asked, rolling right behind her. She laughed.
"Um, no. Don't think so. I think one time was plenty, thank you. The things he said to me ...," she let her voice trail off as they sashayed to the left.
"Get you so hot, you're probably soaking wet right now," Ang finished for her, and she burst out laughing. The woman behind them huffed, but didn't say anything.
"You're so disgusting," Tate snorted at him, brushing sweaty hair away from her forehead. Stupid as she felt, Zumba was one hell of a workout.
"I'm not the one getting off in the middle of a gym full of middle-aged women. Oh my god, you really are, aren't you? I can tell, come here," Ang said, and broke out of the line to grab at her. She burst out laughing, slapping his hands away. They stumbled to the left, Ang digging his fingers in to her waist and hips. She laughed uncontrollably, trying to skip away from him.
"Excuse me! We are in the middle of a lesson!" the instructor barked out over the microphone. Ang rolled his eyes.
"C'mon, we can do this at home with techno music and vodka, let's blow this place," he said in a loud voice, swinging an arm around Tate's shoulders and dragging her away from the floor.
"We probably won't be allowed back, you realize," she pointed out.
"Who cares? There's a ton of other places. Shower?" he asked, stopping in front of the locker rooms.